


the metallic taste of your lips

by Jambalambam



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe -Streetfighter, Anxiety, Bullying (sort of), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, More tags to be added, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:09:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jambalambam/pseuds/Jambalambam
Summary: Laughter starts bubbling up from some twisted part of him and he hears a scoff from the shorter teen looming over him. Dean hears a disgusted mumble from AJ about how much of a sicko he is and it only serves to make the blond laugh harder, because AJ has no idea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I've been working on this little nugget for a while and was started when AJ and Dean were still feuding on Smackdown Live. But y'know, whatever. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this and if I get positive feedback, I'll keep posting it (though it may take a while).

            _Left hook, uppercut, he was beginning to lose track of how many times he hit the man in front of him. He wrapped his left arm around the other’s neck, constricting his grip and along with the other’s windpipe, cementing his hold. His eyes were stinging from the amount of blood in them, cascading down from his freshly cut forehead. Damn bastard brought brass knuckles._

_He could feel the older man beginning to fade, his thrashing becoming tamer as the moments passed on. Through his pounding headache, he could hear the crowd roaring in rage and praise and he couldn’t help but crack a small grin. The flailing became even more lethargic and he could feel his victory about to crash through the roof-_

_The thrashing finally stopped and the bell rang three times and the announcer hollered; “Your winner, Jon Moxley!”_

_There it was._

            “Dean, I asked you a question,” Mr. Kane states tersely, arms crossed on his chest. The man’s voice cuts through the dull throbbing in the front of Dean’s head and he can’t help but grit his teeth. Why was it that teachers always had to single out the students who obviously didn’t give enough of a shit to pay attention? It’s always the same, especially with Mr. Kane, most of the teachers pick on him to answer their questions though they know they’re only going to get a smartass response.

 

            “Sorry, what was the question? I was too busy not giving a damn,” Dean says brusquely, eliciting a low rumble of laughter from his surrounding classmates.

 

            “Doesn’t it get exhausting? Always coming up with some sarcastic reply to my questions?” The bald man tries to level with him, only earning a grin in the process.

 

            “Nope.”

 

            The simple answer seems to infuriate Mr. Kane further, nostrils flaring comically and jaw tensing so outrageously that Dean can see it from his spot near the back of the room. Sadly, he doesn’t reward Dean with an outburst of anger and only points to the door with a stiff finger. Dean grabs the strap of his bag and hoists it onto his right shoulder, sauntering out of the room and into the empty hallway. Once there, he quickens his pace, aching legs protesting the extra effort and he glances over his shoulder periodically.

 

            He makes it to the main office of the school in a short amount of time, calves sore and burning after he slows his gait. He swings the door open, cherishing the rush of cold air into the rest of the smoldering school building. Dean waves to one of the secretaries who just nods in his direction as he enters the vice principal’s office. Mr. McMahon pulls his face out of his desktop screen when Dean knocks on the wooden door and he sighs.

 

            “Again?” He asks, voice gruff and displeased.

 

            “You bet ‘cha,” Dean quips, taking his rightful throne across the desk from the vice principal.

 

            “Dean, you need to stop this. As much as it brightens my day to see you, I’d much rather you be in class than here,” Mr. McMahon gibes, a tight grin plastered on his face. He swivels in his chair to fully face Dean and after a short pause, he continues, “Look, I know it’s tough coming from the city schools to here. It’s a big change in scene and I don’t know if that’s why you're acting up, but you need to at least tone it down. I can’t have you coming in here nearly twice a day.”

 

            “It wouldn’t be so much of a problem for me if all of my teachers would stop picking on me specifically,” Dean grumbles, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs at the ankles. Mr. McMahon huffs a short laugh.

 

            “That’s their job, Dean,”

 

            “To single me out just because I’m new? I’m sorry, I didn’t think that was part of the job description,”

 

            Dean watches Mr. McMahon’s jaw tense, obviously not appreciating his wisecracks in the slightest. He would never admit it out loud, but he kind of likes Mr. McMahon. The guy is pretty solid against teenage shenanigans, he’s a tough nut to crack and that’s something that Dean respects more than a lot of things; resilience. Not enough adults and authority figures in his life have such a quality. To find someone who wouldn’t put up with his shit and indulge him is a breath of fresh air. Nevertheless, he still likes to keep the older man on his toes.

 

            “There’s nothing I can do about that. Maybe if you stopped intentionally slacking off in their classes, they wouldn’t pick on you so much,” Mr. McMahon says. At the end of his statement, the sound of the bell reaches their ears. “Go to class and try not to start anything.”

 

            “No promises,” Dean grins and brushes some loose strands of blond hair away from his face, the pads of his fingers unintentionally scratching a cut on his cheek. He winces slightly.

 

            “What—“ Mr. McMahon starts, leaning forward in his chair and looking at the wound.

 

            “Later, Mr. McMahon,” Dean cuts him off and rushes out of the room. He brushes the hair back to cover up the laceration and pushes the door open, entering the inferno that is the rest of the school building. Students are scattered around in the hallways, some conversing in large clusters, others in smaller ones. Then there are the odd ones out like himself, walking alone either with a look that says ‘look at me and I’ll kill you’ or avoiding as much eye contact as possible. Dean opts for an apathetic expression, finding that it raises less speculation about him and that people will still avoid him even if he doesn’t look murderous.

 

            “Dean!” Yet, there’s always one person who is so oblivious to the fact that he wants to be alone. Dean slows his pace to let the source of the small voice catch up to him. The smaller teen rushes up to his side, blond and brown hair gelled back neatly.

 

            “What, James?” Dean asks. James Ellsworth, for reasons unknown, clings to him like a baby to its mother, no matter how many times Dean tries to chase him away. He’s a little grateful though, James is the only student who really talks to him like a friend and not like an outside entity.

 

            “Did you get in trouble again? I saw you coming out of the office,” James asks, bouncing with every step he takes. How endearing.

 

            “No, I was just planning a birthday party for Mr. McMahon,” Dean replies, sarcasm dripping from his every word.

 

            “…Really?”

 

            The look Dean gives James gives him his answer, and then some.

 

            “Anyways, did you finish the homework for Mr. Michaels’ class? I couldn’t wrap my head around the equations he wanted us to use,” James starts again, more subdued than before.

 

            “Yeah, I’ll let you look at mine when we get there,” Dean answers and the bounce in James’ step becomes a bit more prominent now that he knows Dean is willing to help him.

 

            “Hey, no chin!” The bounce immediately leaves James’ step once they hear the voice of AJ Styles. The long-haired teen wraps his arm around James’ neck mockingly, jostling him around enough to cause him to stumble bit.

 

            “Could you be any less creative, AJ?” Dean jabs, wishing he could’ve gone the entire day without seeing the other. AJ is mostly the reason why Dean spends the least amount of time in the empty hallways of the school as he can; the brunet is always lurking somewhere and he’d rather not deal with him when no one else is around. Not that he’s afraid of the other, hell no, but he can feel his blood pressure rise whenever he hears that ridiculous southern drawl. It’s not enough to make Dean back down from a chance at a fight, though.

 

            “Was I talking to you, city boy? I don’t think I was,” AJ taunts, blue eyes locking onto Dean’s own with whispers of a challenge. “Your boyfriend can handle a little chit chat with me, I promise I’ll play nice.”

 

            “First off, he’s not my boyfriend and second, I don’t think you know the meaning of the word nice,” Dean retorts.

 

            “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word boyfriend, Ambrose. The way you two cling to each other makes it so obvious that you’re both fairies,” AJ bites back smugly and Dean has to fight the urge to wipe the prideful look off of his face.

 

            “Thanks, but I couldn’t care less about what you think this is,” Dean motions between himself and James. “Now, Rapunzel, take your ratty locks and find someone else to bug.”

 

            Dean knows how much AJ hates when people talk about his hair, he made it so obvious when they first confronted each other on Dean’s first day at this school. He finds a ridiculous sense of enjoyment in how rage twists AJ’s features, looking like he’s about to tear someone’s head off. The shorter teen says through clenched teeth, “You’ll pay for that.”

 

            “I’m sure I will,” Dean says before getting clocked in the jaw.

 

            The impact throws off Dean’s footing slightly, though he’s able to catch himself before he could fall. He’ll hand it to AJ; that was a pretty damn good hit, especially since it knocked something around enough to bring back the headache he was fighting earlier. He watches AJ, who goes for another punch but misses when Dean lunges for his midsection, bringing them both down to the floor. Dean delivers punch after punch to AJ’s face before the shorter teen manages to flip them over and does the same to Dean, opening the cut on his cheek. The two go back and forth until they’re pulled apart by Mr. Foley and Mr. Kane. Now, they’re being dragged to Mr. McMahon’s office and Dean knows the man is going to be pissed. Oh well.

 

            “What were you two thinking?” Mr. McMahon says, pinching the bridge of his nose when they’re both seated across the desk from him.

 

            “He started it,” AJ grumbles and Dean barks a laugh.

 

            “What, are you two in third grade? I don’t care who started it, you two need to knock it off!” The man raises his voice and upon seeing Dean’s indifferent expression, he turns his attention to Dean. “And you, what did I _just_ tell you about causing trouble?”

 

            “To tone it down, but I thought you just meant with teachers,” Dean jeers and AJ scoffs.

 

            “Okay, if you’re going to play that way today Ambrose, then I’m giving you a two hour detention today after school in Mr. Foley’s room,” Mr. McMahon grunts and then turns his attention to AJ, “and the same goes for you.”

 

            “What? I hardly did anything wrong!”

 

            “You threw the first punch so you need to be reprimanded for your actions. Now, both of you get out of here and I don’t want to see either of you for the rest of the day,”

 

            Dean chuckles at that, knowing it’s mostly directed towards him. The two exit the office together and walk through the now empty hallways to get to their respective classrooms.

 

            “See you later, shithead,” Dean sneers, lightly smacking AJ on the back of the head, earning a middle finger from the other as they part ways.

 

-

 

            The last bell of the day rings and Dean can practically feel the entire student population heave a sigh of relief, all of them ready to hightail it out of there so they could do nothing with their pathetic lives. Since it’s a Friday, the school empties in a matter of minutes, only leaving the staff, AJ, and himself to roast in the stale air of the building. Dean trudges his way down the hallway to Mr. Foley’s room. Once he enters the room, he’s assaulted by the smell of woodchips and sawdust and sees Mr. Foley in the corner of the room in a red and black flannel, sitting at his desk.

 

            “Early for detention? That’s nearly unheard of,” The bearded man chuckles warmly, standing from his seat and grabbing a broom to sweep up all of the sawdust.

 

            “What can I say? I like to be punctual,” Dean replies, plopping down on one of the wooden stools near Mr. Foley’s desk.

 

            “Yeah, except for when you’re coming to my class,” Mr. Foley jests as AJ saunters into the room, scowl on his face. “How nice of you to join us, AJ.”

 

            “Yeah, wonderful,” AJ grumbles and sits down on one of the stools a few feet away from Dean. Dean notices the bruises forming on AJ’s right cheek and the bridge of his nose and he can’t help the feeling of pride that swells in his chest, knowing he’d given the other a beating just as thorough as he’d endured. At lunch, Dean managed to sneak away from James and his worrying for long enough to go to the restrooms to survey the damage done on his face. Luckily, nothing was broken, though he wasn’t surprised (he _was_ surprised, AJ hit his nose pretty damn hard). With a few bruises beginning to blossom on his face paired with older ones and the cut on his cheek, it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

 

            The three sit in silence for the first hour of detention, Mr. Foley finished his sweeping and powering down any of the machines that were still on. Dean and AJ just ended up twiddling their thumbs since they weren’t allowed to do homework during their punishment.

 

            “Y’know, I don’t mind at this point if you two talk,” Mr. Foley eventually says, apparently getting antsy with the heavy silence enveloping the room. Dean glances in AJ’s direction and they make eye contact with each other for a beat, then AJ quickly breaks it with his brows furrowed. “Or not,” They hear Mr. Foley heave a heavy sigh and turn back to his computer to work.

 

            The last hour ends up being much like the first, save for Mr. Foley not moving from his desk and AJ occasionally shooting daggers at Dean. Not that Dean really gives a damn, it isn’t his fault that they’re in detention and keeping AJ from whatever useless shit he does outside of school. If anyone has the right to be pissed about the situation, it’s Dean. He has job he needs to get ready for instead of sitting in the stuffy, piece of garbage building he now has to call his school and of course that selfish bastard had to start a fight and ruin his plans for the day. Well, they’re not completely ruined, he’ll still have time to get to work once they’re released from this prison.

 

            “Alright, your two hours are up,” Mr. Foley announces, rousing Dean from his thoughts. The older man opens the creaky, wooden door and AJ all but shoots up from his seat and rushes towards the exit. Before he can leave, Mr. Foley adds, “and I better not see you two in detention again any time soon.”

 

            “I’ll try my best, Mr. Foley. It’s him you have to worry about,” Dean responds, pointing at AJ which earns him a glare from the latter and an eye roll from the bearded man.

 

After giving a cheeky little wave goodbye to Mr. Foley, Dean meanders down the hallway towards the exit, taking his time now that he has the freedom he’d been yearning for during the detention. He pushes open one of the front doors and soaks in the feeling of the sun on his face, something he couldn’t do while living in the city. Before he’s able to enjoy the warmth of the sun’s rays too much, he’s pushed against the brick wall of the school and ends up scraping up his arm in the process.

 

“Fuck you, Ambrose. I own this school and I own you, so you don’t get to bring me down to your level and land me in detention,” AJ snarls, lacing his fingers through the blond strands of Dean’s hair and yanking. Dean winces as he notices AJ’s lackeys Karl Anderson and Luke Gallows lurking behind their shorter friend just as AJ gives him the wonderful gift of a knee to the stomach. With that, he keels over and laughter starts bubbling up from some twisted part of him and he hears a scoff from the shorter teen looming over him. Dean hears a disgusted mumble from AJ about how much of a sicko he is and it only serves to make the blond laugh harder, because AJ has no idea.

 

-

 

_He could feel the other’s skin catching under his nails as he tore up the man’s back, red trails chasing after his fingers. A sickening smile crept its way onto his face as the man let out a howl of pain. Of course, his triumph didn’t last long as his opponent drives his shoulder into his midsection, knocking some air out of him in the process of tackling him._

_The man straddled him and began delivering rights and lefts, one after another, and opened the freshly scabbed cut on his cheek. Déjà vu struck him with the same impact as the numerous punches landed on his face and for reasons unknown, rekindled a fire that was being choked out in this fight. The crowd went wild when he managed to flip the older man over and delivered the same punishment he was given not a moment ago. The shouts from the patrons closest to the cage served to egg him on even further, letting out some frustration from earlier in the day. If only his opponent had the same stupid haircut as the cause of his irritable mood, it would make this fight so much easier._

_He didn’t realize the match had ended until he was being pulled off of the battered and broken mess beneath him by the other fighters, thrashing around. Damn, he was probably going to be skimped some of his pay for this._

_Well, at least he won._

 

            It should be like a sigh of relief when the shack he’s now forced to call home comes into view, but it’s the exact opposite. Especially when he sees a beat up Toyota Corolla parked outside the house. He can already hear muffled shouting emanating from that godforsaken place and all he wants to do is turn tail and run. He knows he won’t, though, he can’t. Not now at least.

 

            Dean doesn’t realize he’s standing stock still until a car speeds past him on the dark, dusty road. He lets his head drop back, brain pounding against the inside of his skull from being knocked around so many times in one day. He stares at the star filled sky for a moment, letting them stare right back at him and tell him that things will be okay. With a deep breath, Dean allows his head to fall forward again and starts walking towards the house with purpose in his step; he has to do this while he has the confidence or else he won’t get very far, though he never does anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He clutched his ribs, praying that they weren’t broken (they weren’t, luckily) and hobbled his way down a dark pathway to the entrance of the only drug store in this shithole. He pushed the door open and was greeted with a bright jingle that almost mocks him. He staggered up and down the aisles, quickly becoming frustrated when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Jaw tense, he continued his pursuit until he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey :)  
> Sorry for the wait, I've got a bit of a problem with writer's block so I already had this and other chapters written for this story, but I promised myself that I wouldn't post another chapter until I finished writing the most recent one (if that makes any sense at all). And seeing as how I just finished the most recent one, here's chapter 2!  
> (By the way, thank you all so much for the positive feedback on the first chapter c:)

            Dean hates to be typical, anyone who knows him well enough (which come in very few numbers) knows that he detests clichés with every fiber of his being. So his hatred for Mondays is a strange occurrence since everyone nowadays seems to despise that specific day of the week. Mondays always bring with them a new wave of soreness from the strenuous days of work he’d done over the weekend and is majorly the reason why he hates them so much. Also now, it’s a new start in hell, starring AJ Styles as Satan. The school day has barely even started yet and Dean has already had to fight off the increasingly strong urge to pop the other in the mouth.

 

            “Y’know, your face looks much better with all of those bruises that I gave you on it,” AJ brags, cornering Dean by his locker and the latter huffs a laugh because this asshole thinks he’s the main reason for all of the bruises decorating his face. “I wouldn’t mind helping you keep them there.”

 

            “The only one who’s going to get a full facial makeover is you, Styles, if you don’t shut the hell up. Are you really that bad with people skills that when someone says to fuck off, you cling to them even more?” Dean growls, head still pounding and the rest of his limbs aching. “I mean, I know you’re a dumb hillbilly but come on.”

 

            Sometimes Dean wonders why he decides to egg his enemies on like this when he’s in pain, he knows it almost always ends with a beating. As expected, AJ doesn’t disappoint and ends up nailing Dean directly in the gut and more specifically on a large bruise, causing him to double over slightly. Splendid. When the pain subsides enough for Dean to straighten himself up to throw a punch back at him, he notices AJ walking away with a smug look on his face as the bell rings.

 

            With a heavy sigh, Dean drags himself to his first and least favorite class of the day; Physics with Mr. Nash. It isn’t so much about Mr. Nash, no, Dean’s convinced the man doesn’t even know he’s there half the time or maybe he just doesn’t give a damn. He sure as hell doesn’t give a damn about Physics though, that’s for sure and that’s what practically murders all enjoyment that someone can have in a math-based class (which is near non-existent). Dean enters the dark classroom, the only light emanating from the overhead projector and casting shadows on the unnaturally tall teacher’s frowning face. He sits down in his usual seat next to James, who seems to be knocked out completely and the class hasn’t even started yet, that’s got to be a record.

 

-

 

            Since this morning’s altercation with AJ, Dean’s knuckles have been itching for sweet, sweet revenge on that asshole, no matter how many cuts and scrapes litter them. He knows that now isn’t the time for that unless he wants a repeat of last Friday and that is _definitely_ something he doesn’t want. It wasn’t the detention that he was afraid of, it was being ganged up on again. AJ would, without a doubt, have his two tall shadows lurking behind him if Dean were to seek him out now. He could handle a one-on-one fight with no sweat and a smile on his face but he’s been in too many uneven match-ups in his life where he was disadvantaged. So, he would rather risk being called a chicken shit than do any of that again. Dean will certainly get back at AJ once he’s alone, though, and that’s a guarantee.

 

            Dean’s musings are interrupted by the final bell of the day and the tension of the school day leaves his body like air from a balloon. He vacates the classroom amidst the other students, bag slung over his shoulder and gaze directed at the floor. He feels his cheek pulsating where he knows a bruise resides and grimaces slightly, bringing his hand up to brush lightly against the tender flesh.

 

            _“And now it looks like Moxley’s going for a—Ooh! Nasty left hook by Gage, that’s gotta hurt!”_

Dean squeezes his eyelids shut, the memory flashing behind them with a dull throb of pain in the bruise. Still, he takes long strides to his locker, eyes now open and brows furrowed. He gathers his things from his locker and doesn’t notice AJ and his lackeys creeping up on him. As Dean crouches down to retrieve something from his backpack on the ground with his right hand supporting him in the doorway of the locker, AJ takes the liberty of slamming the locker door on Dean’s fingers.

 

            “Shit!” Dean yells, snapping his head to look at AJ, Luke, and Karl. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

 

            “Sorry, I guess I didn’t think much before I acted, since I’m just a ‘dumb hillbilly’,” AJ sneers, crouching down so that he and Dean are at eye level with each other. “You should know by now that you shouldn’t poke the bear and yet, you still do. Maybe this’ll help teach you a lesson.”

 

            Dean feels his eye twitch slightly, now craving the feeling of AJ’s face against his knuckles, a craving that won’t be sated while he’s like this. His fingers scream in agony with every minuscule movement each tendon in his hand makes, the pain almost becoming unbearable. Dean grits his teeth to fight off the pain; he won’t give AJ the satisfaction of seeing him in such extreme discomfort.

 

            “Fuck you,” Dean growls and sees AJ snicker. Luke and Karl stand behind their friend with their arms crossed and smirks cemented on their features. Oh, what Dean would give to rearrange each of their faces.

 

            “That all you got, Ambrose? Maybe I’m not the stupid one after all,” AJ says with a grin and saunters away, his shadows following close behind. Dean’s gaze follows after them for a moment before he turns his attention back to his injured fingers, still trapped under the locker door. With his left hand, he tries to pry at the bottom of the door that’s jutting out to give himself enough room to remove his hand. Thankfully, it’s just enough to free his hand from the confines of the door and he slumps against his locker next to his backpack, clutching his fingers. He examines them and tries to bend them, which he immediately regrets because a sharp pain shoots up his wrist from the injured tendons in his hand. Dean hisses through his teeth, he sure as hell hopes nothing is too damaged. God dammit, of course, this had to happen to him and on his right hand too. Bummer.

 

            Dean opens his locker once again after fumbling with the combination with his left hand. Hurriedly, he gathers the rest of his things from his locker and shuts it once more, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and walks out of the building.

 

            The sun beats down on his blond hair as he makes his way down the cracked sidewalk towards a small drugstore. Dean fishes his wallet out of his back pocket with his wounded hand to check for the money he’d earned at work, making sure it’s still there and that someone hadn’t grabbed it from him during school. It’s an old habit from when he went to school in the city; some of those assholes had really sticky fingers and those motherfuckers never stopped trying to steal from him, no matter how many beatings him and his friends, Seth and Roman, gave them. Now that he’s alone (save for James, but he’s about as useful as a napkin), he has no one to help fend off any thieves.

 

            Thankfully, all of the money is there and he feels slightly relieved. He enters the store, bells on the door jingling happily as he walks across the threshold and he makes a beeline for the back of the store where the medical supplies are. As he examines the shelves for what he needs (gauze, antiseptic spray, bandages, wraps) his injured hand gives a painful throb that causes him to wince and he holds it a foot from his face to survey the damage. Shadows have now formed where the locker was closed on his hand, a sign that there will definitely be bruises there later. Dean’s hand drops to his side once again and he returns his attention back to the shelves when a thought crosses his mind that makes him laugh spitefully. He’s already almost run out of these kinds of supplies at home, he’d have to thank AJ later for making him go to the store for this.

 

            After a few moments of thought, he scoops up a package each of the things he needs and pours them onto the checkout counter. The cashier, Dolph, rings him up, the same one who was here the last time he was in dire need of bandages.

 

_He can’t believe how stupid he was, not stocking up on medical supplies beforehand with the kind of job he has. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He probably looked like a maniac too, running down the dirt road that slowly turned into asphalt with blood dripping from his forehead into his eyes. It was his first night on the job and man, it was brutal._

_He clutched his ribs, praying that they weren’t broken (they weren’t, luckily) and hobbled his way down a dark pathway to the entrance of the only drug store in this shithole. He pushed the door open and was greeted with a bright jingle that almost mocks him. He staggered up and down the aisles, quickly becoming frustrated when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. Jaw tense, he continued his pursuit until he heard someone clear their throat behind him._

_“Is there anything I can help you with?” The person asked, now clearly male and it made Dean want to laugh. He slowly turned around to face the man and, as expected, the man flinched at the sight of the blood on his face and probably in his hair. “Holy shit, are you okay?”_

_“Oh yeah, just peachy,” Dean retorted sarcastically, still clutching his ribs. He gave the man a once over; red store vest over a blue t-shirt, jeans, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail with blond highlights, didn’t look a day over nineteen. “Could you point me in the direction of the band-aids and all that shit?”_

_“Uh, yeah, it’s just over there,” He said, obviously freaked out by the blood-soaked teen wandering around the store. Dean spared him a nod in thanks and limped over into the aisle, not noticing the store clerk following him warily. Dean grabbed a ton of different supplies without much thought, the pile in his arms growing. “Did you want some help?”_

_“Christ!” Dean almost jumped out of his skin and, in the process, dropped a few things from the pile in his arms. “Do you always creep around your customers?”_

_“No,” He said, moving to cross his arms over his chest, “but none of my customers have come in this bruised and bloodied before.”_

_“Touché,”_

_“Now, gimme some of that before you end up hurting yourself even more,” The clerk said and forcefully took some of the items from Dean’s arms, walking towards the front of the store to the checkout counter. Dean followed, wincing as one of the boxes of bandages poked him in his injured ribs. The clerk began ringing him up, both of them sitting in silence as he did so until he finally pipes up. “How did this happen?”_

_“Got roughed up by some guys in the city on my way home from work,” Dean lied, earning a sympathetic look from the clerk. He felt a little guilty for lying to the guy since he seemed pretty nice, but who knows how long that would last. When the clerk finished bagging his things and after Dean paid, he leaned on the counter and threw Dean a soft ‘hey’._

_“Make sure you put some of that antiseptic on those cuts on your head, you don’t want anything nasty getting in there. And wrap up your ribs too, it should help ease the pain at least a little,” He said. “And stay out of trouble, kid.”_

_“It’s Dean,” He said, slightly irritated at being called a kid. “I’ll try my best-“ He glances at the clerk’s nametag, “Dolph.”_

_And with that, he left the comfort of the store’s atmosphere into the harsh one of the outside world._

            “Still not staying out of trouble, I see,” Dolph says, sounding like a disappointed parent. It shouldn’t be as funny as Dean finds it, but it’s enough to rouse a chuckle from the Dean.

 

            “Sorry, mom, I can’t help myself,” He replies, grin firmly in place on his features and his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Could I get a pack of Camels with this?”

 

            “If you show me an ID and say pretty please,” Dolph crosses his arms, lips slanting into a slight smirk. Dean fishes his wallet out of his pocket and flashes his fake ID to the other, who accepts it and rings up the pack of cigarettes with the rest of Dean’s purchases. The two exchange pleasant small talk while Dean hands Dolph the money in his injured hand, the tendons in his fingers resisting the movement with sharp pains. Dean winces and before he can pull his hand away, the clerk grabs his hand gently. “What the hell happened here?”

 

            “…Nothing,” The younger of the two yanks his hand back from the man across the counter, shoving it into his pocket with his wallet. He grabs the bags filled with his purchases, head hanging slightly. “I’ll see you around, Dolph.”

 

            “Wait a sec-“ Dean hears the older man try but he keeps walking, pushing through the exit of the store and outside into the warm breeze, the bells on the door ringing in farewell. Walking down the same cracked sidewalk as before, Dean rifles through the plastic bag, trying to locate the pack of cigarettes. Once he’s successful, he tears off the plastic wrapping and places one of the sticks in between his dry lips. He lets the rest of the pack fall through his aching fingers and back into the plastic bag, then begins opening and closing his fist, testing how much it was going to hurt. A sharp pain shoots from the tips of his fingers to his wrist and his lips frown around the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

 

            Dean continues down the sidewalk, finally lighting the cigarette and inhaling the ashy air deep into his lungs. He pulls it away from his mouth, sighing contently and watches the smoke dissipate. Eventually, he ends up in a park near the outside of town. Dean had been here before, quite a few times actually. It’s the place he goes when he can’t be around anyone else or when he doesn’t want to go home to find his mom getting friendly with another one of her boyfriends. The blond walks across an expanse of green to a rotting bench and plops himself down on it, the wood creaking under his weight. Leaning back, he takes another drag from his cigarette and lets his head drop back, leaving him to look up at the clear blue sky.

 

            Dean was completely opposed to moving out here to a bumfuck town in rural Ohio just a couple month ago, and still sort of is. Being born and raised in the heart of Cincinnati, he knew and probably still knows the streets like the back of his hand, believing that he belongs there with the rest of the ruffians who roam the streets. When his mom proposed that they moved outside of the city since she got a raise and help from her boyfriend at the time, though Dean on really saw him a sort of sugar daddy, he was furious. Even with his constant and steady refusal, he was still dragged along; away from his friends, away from everything he’d known, away from his life.

 

            Their first night in this hellhole, Dean tried to run away, back to the city. He didn’t get very far and this park was where he ended up. Somehow, laying on the thick carpet of grass served to calm his temper down and allowed him think rationally about how this could benefit him and his mom. They’d be away from the house where so many bad memories were held, away from the constant exposure of crime and drugs, an aspect of the city his mom had been trying to stay away from for years. With that in mind, he was able to give his and his mom’s situation a new outlook, though it didn’t last long. AJ Styles seemed hell-bent on souring his more open-minded view of his new situation and he definitely succeeded. Still, coming to this park always helps to clear Dean’s mind whenever it gets cloudy or he gets riled up by something.

 

            The park is a luxury to Dean; none of the parks in downtown Cincinnati were as nice and as relaxing as this one. It’s a place where he isn’t suffocating and can think freely without anyone else there to judge him or hurt him. A sanctuary. Tranquil and inviting, everything that Dean’s life has never been.

 

            He doesn’t realize how long he’s been sitting on that bench until the light shining on his face fades to a dark orange. The cigarette he’d been smoking had long been extinguished on one of the wooden boards of the bench and so he places another between his chapped lips, the tepid wind sweeping his hair into his eyes. Dean stands, joints popping and muscles aching as he stretches, and lights the cigarette, using his now darkly bruised fingers to block the flame of his lighter from the breeze. He gazes at the orange clouds above his head as he exhales smoke and then begins his trek home, silently hoping that he’ll be alone once he gets there. His feet drag along the overgrown cracks in the same sidewalk he traveled on earlier in the day, the grass and weeds feeling soft and oddly pleasant under the worn out soles of his shoes.

 

            For once, the universe decided to grant his wish of arriving at an empty home and there couldn’t be a better ending to a shitty day. That thought causes a chuckle to bubble up in Dean’s chest; something so simple made his day better after it began in an awful way. He closes the paint-chipped door behind him and crosses the crowded entryway with a relaxed saunter. His bag slips off of his shoulder on top of a dirty pile of clothes and he makes his way towards the landline, removing it from its hook, and punching in a number he doesn’t think he could ever forget.

 

            “ _Hello?_ ” A deep voice rumbles through the receiver and Dean can’t stop the smile that crawls its way onto his face.

 

            “Guess who?” He says, smile evident in his voice.

 

            “ _Dean? You son of a bitch, why is this the first time I’ve heard from you since you left?_ ” His friend scolds, but only earns himself a hearty laugh from Dean. It’s good to know that Roman still hasn’t stopped being a mother hen.

 

            “Sorry, lost track of time. Things have been a bit busy,”

 

            “ _So busy that you haven’t had any downtime in the past three months? I find that hard to believe,_ ” Roman quips and Dean hears some rustling as well as another voice in the background. “ _So how are things in Hicksville?_ ”

 

            “Boring as all hell, brother, I can’t even begin to tell you how boring this place is,” Dean starts, shifting his weight to his left foot and leaning against the wall. “It’s too quiet around here for someone like me. I’m a troublemaker, Roman, I feed off of the energy from all the ruckus in the city and there’s none of that here. Jack shit, man.”

 

            “ _Sounds awful,_ ” Roman says sarcastically. Dean almost forgot that Roman never really understood his love of the city life and all the trouble that used to surround them. His Samoan friend is always more rational and calm than he is, he’d probably love living outside the downtown area and in the suburbs or something. Dean is sometimes still surprised by how easily he and Roman became friends because of how different their ideals seem to be, even though Roman knows some of how Dean acts is just a farce. From the outside looking into their friendship, they seem like polar opposites but they are, in fact, quite similar.

 

            “How’ve things been there? I hope you’re not having too much fun without me,”

 

            “ _Things have been pretty normal since you left. Kevin, that kid who started going here when you were leaving, he’s been causing some problems for Seth and I. He’s a real jackass,_ ” Woah, woah, woah. Dean’s mind reels back to the mention of Seth and he can’t help but ask about his other friend.

 

            “What do you mean, ‘you and Seth’? Is he done being a prick now?”

 

            “ _Yeah, actually. I guess Kevin sort of brought us back into a friendship, you know, mutual enemy and stuff,_ ” Roman says, nonchalantly and it only serves to irritate Dean. When Dean was leaving, he and Seth didn’t end on the best of terms. They had been getting into arguments left and right, some that even lead to physical fights and had left a giant, yellowing bruise where their friendship used to be. Dean still doesn’t know what he did to his younger friend that caused their friendship to crumble, but there was nothing he could do at the time. Even now, there’s nothing he can do to fix their friendship if that was even possible since a lot of fights they had really hurt and not just the physical ones. Roman’s voice tears him from his thoughts when he adds; “ _He actually here right now, did you want to talk to him?_ ”

 

            _Yes_ , was Dean’s immediate thought, however, he doesn’t say it. What would he even say to the other, especially in a conversation over the phone? He would have to let that topic sit with him a little longer and hopefully he could have that conversation with Seth in person, rather than over the phone. So, Dean shuts Roman down with; “Nah, maybe some other time. I’ve got some homework that needs to get done.”

 

            “ _Dean, you can’t avoid talking to him about this forever. You’ll have to talk eventually,_ ” Roman says sternly, much like how a parent would.

 

            “I will, Roman. Not over the phone, though,” Dean responds quietly, voice having lost its comedic edge. “But seriously, I’m gonna go. Talk to you soon?”

 

            “ _Of course, just don’t wait another three months to give me a call, alright? Don’t be a stranger, Dean, or I’ll come out there and kick your ass._ ” Roman gives a chuckle, sounding like distant, rumbling thunder. After they exchange goodbyes, Dean hangs the phone back on the hook and sighs. His chest aches while he bustles around the house, putting all of the new medical supplies under the sink in the bathroom. He wishes he could be back with Roman and, hell, even Seth instead of being stuck here with the only daily interaction he receives from any of his peers being from AJ and his buddies.

 

            Sadly, Dean’s wishes very rarely become true.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've figured out some sort of a schedule for updating this story: I'll post a new chapter every month around the beginning of the month, roughly. Sound good? I think so.  
> Also, sorry for Randy Orton fans, but I made him quite the asshat in this (I'm not a big fan of his, sorry)  
> But anyhow, enjoy this chapter and don't be afraid to leave a comment about what you think, I'm always interested in seeing your imput!
> 
> WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING: referenced child abuse, homophobia, homophobic slurs

            “What’s that?” James’ voice startles Dean slightly, he hadn’t realized that the sneaky little bugger was walking next to him. He places a bandaged hand on his chest, trying to keep himself steady after the sudden scare and turns to look at his shorter companion with eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

 

            “Christ almighty,” Dean mumbles. “What? What are you talking about?”

 

            “Your hand,” James points at the aforementioned hand resting on his chest, giving Dean a look like it was obvious what he was talking about.

 

            “Yeah, what about it?” Dean tries, preferring not to talk about it this early in the day, even if it’s already noon. Unfortunately, the look James gives him in return tells him very clearly that he’s not going to get away without explaining. So, he opts with a pathetic; “It was nothing.”

 

            “Oh, of course, _nothing_ ,” James says, crossing his arms accusingly with a frown etching its way onto his features.

 

            “Don’t give me that,” Dean stops walking in the middle of the hallway, serving James a hard glare, one that he hopes sends the message he doesn’t want to talk. They stand in the middle of the hallway for a minute, agitated students brushing past them whilst grumbling angrily and when they finally decide to move, James has his lips pursed with frustration.

 

            The two enter their next class, Woodshop with Mr. Foley, seconds before the bell chimes and the discussion they’d been having ceases for the time being. Dean takes his seat on the right side of the room, wiping some sawdust from the table in front of him and watching it fall to the floor like a tiny waterfall. He slumps his t-shirt clad shoulders and allows his schoolbag to drop to the floor near his feet with a loud thud, earning a glance from Mr. Foley and a slight shaking of his head.

 

            The bearded teacher begins his lesson of the day, something about machine safety which he should probably be listening to but, of course, he isn’t. Dean can’t help but be slightly distracted by an empty seat near the front of the room where his absolute best friend in the whole wide world, AJ, usually sits. A small wave of relief washes over him, knowing he won’t have to deal with the other at all today, which is a blessing in itself. Dean was pleasantly surprised this morning when he entered the school and AJ wasn’t immediately making an ass of himself, though he did notice Luke and Karl were still wandering about, albeit like chickens without heads since their leader was nowhere to be found.

 

            Dean rests his chin on his bare fist, tapping the fingers of his bandaged hand on the table incessantly, earning himself an annoyed glare from his table partner, Baron. The glare only spurs him on further, however, and he carries on with the annoying tapping with a slanted grin on his face. Maybe it should concern him, how much he enjoys pissing people off because he can’t seem to go even one day without wanting to push someone’s buttons. Baron sighs heavily, resting his head on his fist as he seemingly tries to ignore Dean and it makes the smile on his face grow wider. He eventually stops the tapping and he can practically feel waves of relief emanating off of the taller student when he finally decides to start tuning into what Mr. Foley is saying.

 

-

 

            Throwing his bag down on the floor next to his bed, Dean flops down on the bouncy mattress and placing his arms behind his head. His eyes ache and he feels like he could sleep for a decade straight, but since he’s got work tonight he won’t be able to begin hibernating quite yet. Not that he’s complaining; he gets paid pretty well for the amount of days he works and that’s better than what he can say for his mom.

 

            He shoots up into a sitting position on his bed, suddenly remembering the envelopes that had been strewn across their kitchen table. Dean stands from his bed and takes one large stride to his dresser, opening up the sock drawer and digging through it to find one of his pairs of socks that he stuffed with his earnings. He flips through the assorted bills, removing $320 and lets his legs carry him into their small kitchen, socks nearly making him slip on the linoleum flooring. Blue eyes skim over the different envelops, trying to decide which one to put the money in when he decides he’ll let his mom take care of it since she is the adult of the house, after all. Folding the stack of bills in half, he tucks it under an empty mug and vacates the room just as soon as he hears the front door open. Strange, she’s never home this early.

 

            Dean picks up his pace ever so slightly, hoping to make it to his room before she can see he’s home. The universe is seemingly on his side so far today as he closes the door to his room softly behind him and wades through the sea of dirty clothes on his floor to his messy bed, where he flops down once again.

 

            “Dean?” He hears a soft, feminine voice from the other side of the door. Dammit, he just wants to go to sleep for a little bit before work, is that too much to ask? Though he doesn’t respond, his mom takes the liberty of opening the door anyways, poking her thin face through the crack in the door.

 

            “What?” Dean questions, sitting up on his bed once again, frustrated.

 

            “I was just checking if you were home, that’s all,” She says, a small smile gracing her features that chips away at his frustration. She enters, stepping over the small hills of clothing throughout the room and sits on the bed next to him. “I feel like I haven’t seen you lately, what’s my boy been up to?”

 

            “School, work, same as always,” Dean replies, the corners of his mouth twitching down slightly when he smells the faint scent of liquor on his mom’s breath. He looks down at his hands, scratching at one of the scabs on his knuckles and his mom seems to follow his gaze, grabbing his bandaged hand with her thin fingers.

 

            “What happened?” Worry laces her tone as she asks the question, her eyes coming up to meet his as he gives her a soft look, one filled with disappointment. If only she hadn’t been so drunk the first time she asked that question.

 

-

 

            _“Mox! Mox! Mox!” The crowd cheered with fervor, more patrons screaming in his favor than usual. He wondered why that was, what was different about today than the previous days?_

_Nonetheless, he let their cheers flow along with his blood, already pumping quickly as he bounced up and down across from his opponent, whose strangely pierced eyebrows furrow when he listened to the crowd. When the bell rang, he knew he had to please the crowd, open this guy’s face up as fast as possible. It wouldn’t be easy, not in a straight fist fight like this one but he would find a way. That’s something he learned on his first night on the job; there’s always a way to make someone bleed, no matter what._

_He didn’t give Thumbtack Jack, his opponent, the chance to get a punch in until a full minute into their fight, throwing lefts and rights nonstop until the other was backed into the corner of their makeshift ring. He thought he saw one of the needle-like piercings from the other’s eyebrow rip out of the skin, drawing the first blood of the fight. He couldn’t cherish it all too much, though, since quickly after he did so he got a solid punch to the nose._

_Of course, that’s not enough to knock him down. Jack would have to try a lot harder than that._

            Dean inhales sharply on his cigarette, wincing when a sharp pain shoots though his skull and he sits on the curb outside the drug store under a bright streetlight. He wipes away the blood dripping from his nose, stripping himself of the black, denim jacket he’d been wearing over a once white, now speckled with his own blood, wife beater. He brings a still taped-up hand to his hair, running his fingers through the sweaty locks and sighing in relief when he picks a needle out of his scalp. Dean examines the small needle, red at the tip where it was lodged in his skin and decides to shove it in the pocket of his jeans.

 

            He sits there for a while, bugs flying close to the source of light overhead without considering what time it could be and that he should probably get home because of school tomorrow. Eventually, he finishes off his first cigarettes and reaches into his pocket for a fresh one when he notices a familiar figure coming out of the drug store, and even in the poor lighting he could see some dark spots littering the other’s face.

 

            “You look like shit,” Dean says, cigarette bobbing up and down between his chapped and bloody lips as he talks and cups his hand around the end of it while lighting it.

 

            “I’m sure I look better than you do,” AJ scoffs, looming above Dean with a heavy looking plastic bag in his hand. The blond laughs and offers a nod, once again wiping away the trail of blood from his nose he could feel forming again. “What the hell happened?”

 

            “All in a day’s work,” Dean states simply, and pats the curb next to him. When AJ gives him a questioning look, he says; “You look exhausted, why waste the energy by standing?”

 

            Dean doesn’t know why he’s inviting the other to sit with him, just this afternoon he’d been thanking whatever deity would listen that AJ wasn’t at school to torment him. Now, for some reason, it feels like something’s different, especially since they both look like they’ve been roughed up a bit. Though in Dean’s case, he’s been roughed up more than just a bit.

 

            “So where’d you get those?” Dean inquires after the other sits next to him, taking a long drag on his cigarette and pointing to the bruises on AJ’s cheek and eye. AJ seems caught off guard by the question and starts to fidget, looking down at the plastic bag he’d been carrying.

 

            “Got, uh…roughed up by some guys after school yesterday,” AJ responds, like he’s trying to formulate an acceptable excuse for his appearance. Dean frowns. He frowns because that kind of behavior is all too familiar to him, and it’s not a good sign whatsoever. A silence falls over them as Dean narrows his eyes, AJ becoming fidgety under his scrutinizing gaze. The brunet stands up abruptly, grabbing the bag and Dean could swear that he hears the sloshing of liquid in a glass bottle, another thing that’s all too familiar.

 

            “I should get going,” AJ says and turns to walk away. Dean lets him walk for a few seconds and then decides to pipe up.

 

            “I get it, you know,”

 

            AJ stops dead in his tracks, shoulders immediately tensing. He turns on the balls of his feet to face Dean once again, a frown present on his features, though Dean can see the fear behind it all. He and his shorter classmate make solid eye contact for around a minute, AJ searching his eyes for what Dean assumes is an explanation.

 

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ambrose,” AJ’s voice is barely above a whisper but Dean can read him like a lit up billboard on a pitch black highway. They’re still maintaining eye contact with each other, though now it’s turned into a harsh glare on AJ’s end. Dean plucks the cigarette from between his lips, short bursts of smoke puffing out of his mouth as he huffs a laugh. Had he been like this when he was younger?

 

            He places the cigarette between his lips again and stands up from the curb, the muscles in his legs protesting vehemently though he refuses to listen to them. Dean takes a couple long strides over to where AJ is standing, gripping the handle of the plastic bag tight enough that his knuckles are white. The blond stops once he’s in front of the other, trying to dig a little deeper into the new information without daring to ask a question, afraid he’ll scare AJ away. Strange, this morning Dean would’ve given anything to be able to chase him away but now he can’t help the feeling of understanding overcoming him.

 

            “I’m not as dumb as you probably think I am,” Dean says, voice low as he looks down at the teen in front of him, gaze steely and calculating. They stand like this, both silent and stolid until AJ cracks a cruel grin.

 

            “Oh, but you are,” AJ replies, slowly backing away from Dean as a strangled laugh crawls up the brunet’s throat. The blond glowers as he watches AJ walk away into the shadows of the night, quickly disappearing from his view underneath the streetlamp. Something in his gut twinges, the way it does when something bad is about to happen and he knows he may have just made a mistake in reaching out to his enemy.

 

-

 

            Since their confrontation, Dean has been more on edge than usual, especially since nothing has happened between him and AJ since then. Not that he’s looking forward to something, god no, he knows whatever happens next between them won’t be good at all.

 

            He drops his lunch tray on the particle-wood top of one of the cafeteria tables, letting the Styrofoam squeak against the crumb covered surface (honestly, what is the custodial staff being paid for if they aren’t even cleaning the damn lunch tables?). The table is empty, just the way he likes it, though he knows James will find him eventually and pester him to no end. Dean feels slightly sorry for how he’s been treating the guy, the tension and frustration from not knowing what AJ meant last night has been weighing on Dean and making him more irritable, and therefore more likely to snap at people. And he has, he’s snapped at James a few times already and even some teachers.

 

            Dean plops down in one of the plastic chairs and sighs, bringing his elbows to the table and scrubbing his hands down his fatigued features. All he wants to know is if he made a huge mistake by alluding to a discussion topic he’s never shared with anyone, not even Roman and Seth. Sure, they knew, but he never talked about it with them. Never. So he’s still struggling to understand why he even brought that up yesterday with someone who’s been tormenting him since he arrived in this shithole of a town no less.

 

            He grabs a French fry off of his tray, floppy and so obviously undercooked, tossing it into his mouth and cringing at the pitiful taste and texture. He continues eating the poor excuse for food from his tray, eyes wandering around the room to the faces of his peers, a large portion of them staring back at him, some glowering and others sparing him quick glances. Nothing unusual, though their eyes quickly flicker away from him with a giggle from some of the girls and grimaces from the guys.

 

            By now, he’s used to the odd looks and hushed discussion, which he assumes is about him, from his fellow students. However, he’s not used to the looks of actual disgust some of them are now wearing on their faces when he makes eye contact with them, like they’ve just eaten something rotten and are waiting for the first opportunity to hack it up into a trash can.

 

            Dean knows he’s not very well liked here and almost everywhere else he goes, but usually those looks of disgust are from those who’ve actually engaged in conversation with him. None of the students who are shooting daggers at him and look like they want to hurl at the sight of him are ones that Dean has talked to. Hell, he doesn’t even know half of them. He draws his eyes back to the Styrofoam tray in front of him, a piece of cardboard disguised as pizza sits there, bathing in a pool of grease and tomato sauce.

 

            He’s almost able to convince himself to eat the “pizza” when the tray is yanked out from in front of him and thrown, the food splatting on the ground. He whips his head around to look at the culprit and finds Mr. Buzz-cut from Woodshop, Randy Orton.

 

            “Is there a reason you’re redecorating the floor over here and not somewhere else?” Dean questions the looming figure behind him. Randy doesn’t answer his question, just looks him up and down with a repulsed look painted on his square features.

 

            “Get the hell out of here, you don’t belong here,” Randy growls and that doesn’t sit well with Dean.

 

            “Well, I don’t believe you’re in a position to be giving me orders, so how about you run on back to your little cult,” Dean says, nodding to a table not far from where they’re standing and three other students are sitting, the “Wyatt Family” as James informed him on his first day in this hellhole.

 

            Randy’s fist shoots out and grabs Dean by the front of his white t-shirt, tugging him out of his plastic chair, knocking it over and onto its back, pulling him so he can feel the others angry breath on his face.

 

            “I said, get out of here, you fucking faggot,” Randy spits and Dean remembers feeling a bit of shock before he practically sees red. Before he can stop himself (even though he wouldn’t have), he throws a punch straight into the side of the other’s head, sending Randy to the cold, hard floor.

 

            Soon enough, they’re the center of attention in the large room, rolling around on the tiled floor and beating each other to a pulp. Dean winces as he feels the cuts on his knuckles open up again, but he continues raining down fists nonetheless.

 

            “Don’t fucking call me that, you piece of shit!” He shouts, his temper quickly raging out of control. Randy somehow gets an arm around his neck in an attempt placate him, but ends up with Dean’s teeth digging into the flesh and he hollers in pain, letting go. Dean is on him again, but is quickly pulled off of the short-haired student by Mr. McMahon.

 

            Dean nearly turns his anger towards Mr. McMahon, though before he can make that grave mistake he realizes who separated him from Randy. He pants as he’s dragged by the sleeve of his shirt, which he notes is beginning to stretch out in the vice principal’s tight grip. He’s pushed into one of the chairs in front of the wooden desk while Randy is led into the office with more care. Dean all but snarls at the other when he enters the room, but is forced back into the seat when he attempts to get back up.

 

            “No, you will not start a brawl in my office!” Mr. McMahon shouts, standing in between Randy, who’s still standing by the entrance, and Dean. “What the hell is this about?”

 

            “He’s a maniac!” Randy accuses.

 

            “He’s a bigot!” Dean counters, hands gripping the armrests of the chair so tightly, his knuckles are white.

 

            “Okay, how about one of you tells me what happened so I can form an understanding of why you were both trying to kill each other,” Mr. McMahon states, arms crossed and resting against his chest.

 

            Randy goes on to share a bullshit story of how he was going over to Dean’s table to extend an invitation to join him and the Wyatts at his table since he was alone. Dean rolls his eyes and scoffs so hard he nearly hurts himself.

 

            “Bullshit! That’s nowhere near what happened!” Dean yells, attempting to stand from the chair again and is successful this time.

 

            “Okay, then, Dean what’s your story? Or am I going to have to give you a suspension for trying to start another fist fight in my office?” Mr. McMahon asks, frustration and anger evident in his voice.

 

            “Randy came up to my table, tossed my lunch on the ground and called me, excuse my language, ‘a faggot.’” Dean barks, shooting daggers at the short-haired student.

 

            “Mr. McMahon, I wouldn’t do that! You’ve known my family and I for so long, you know what kind of person I am,” Randy attempts to cover himself which only serves to piss Dean off even more. Dean shifts his gaze to Mr. McMahon, who looks between the two of them with a conflicted expression on his face that tells Dean everything he needs to know, which is infuriating.

           

            “You don’t believe me,” Dean deadpans after a long pause in the entire discussion. When Mr. McMahon only looks at him with a hard stare, Dean laughs in spite of himself and throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright. Alright, fine. Lay it on me then, since I’m the one being blamed here.”

 

            And so, Dean ends up with a three day, out of school suspension. He’s allowed to finish the rest of his day at school, but his mood has been completely destroyed. His temper is running short with everyone, even James who eventually came to his senses and stopped talking to him, at least for today. Dean thinks some of his teachers may have noticed his sour mood since the majority actually left him alone instead of poking the proverbial bear.

 

            The last bell of the day rings loudly, Dean’s shoulders tensing even more with annoyance and acrimony. He’s the last student to leave his class, standing up abruptly from his seat and sending his chair backwards with a loud screech. Wading through the hallways with his head down, he can feel his temper rising with every whisper he hears from his peers, teeth gritting bit by bit when he hears the occasional slur, similar or exactly like the one Randy used. He doesn’t bother stopping at his locker; if he stays here any longer in such a mood, he might be held accountable for some property damage.

 

            He brings his gaze up in front of him as he’s about to exit through the front doors of the school and he sees AJ and his gangly groupies hanging around there. Before he can avert his eyes, AJ’s blue eyes meet his own and he smiles knowingly as Luke and Karl say something about him in a hushed tone.

 

            It’s then that he realizes where this whole problem stemmed from.

 

            _That bastard._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I hope the month of July and beginning of August treated you guys well!  
> I just want to say as a warning since I might not get to before the next update, I'm starting college in two weeks so if there are any issues with the posting of the next chapter in the next coming month, just know that it's due to me being busy and that it will get put up before the end of the month!  
> But, enough blabber from me, enjoy chapter four :)

                Dean sits on the rotting bench in the park with a cigarette between his chapped lips once again, the chilled wind trying to pierce through his black hoodie. He lets his hood-clad head fall back and he looks at the gray sky above him, looking like a child about to burst into tears and douse him in water. He huffs, smoke following the air that leaves his lungs and his eye throbs. Wincing, he brings his head up once more to bring his shaking fingers to the tender bruise around his eye.

 

            It’s been a week since the incident with Randy in the cafeteria and his suspension is long behind him, but the catalyst in this whole shit show is still hanging over his head like an anvil suspended by a piece of dental floss.

 

            And this black eye he’s sporting today is nothing short of another gift bestowed upon him by another one of his fellow students, the fucking bigots. These past few days have been nothing but stressful for him because he can’t get suspended again, since he actually does have to pass if he doesn’t want to end up like his mom; struggling to support herself, let alone her only son.

 

            On another note, the anger that’s been bubbling under Dean’s skin hasn’t died down, no matter how many people or walls he’s punched since this whole thing started. He’s almost positive that AJ is responsible for this fiasco, unless someone else secretly has it out for him, which he doubts. AJ is really the only real enemy he made at the school (before the past week, now he can add The Wyatts and Randy Orton to that list), not counting Karl and Luke. Even though Dean wants very badly to tear AJ a new one, he’s kind of glad the other hasn’t attempted approaching him at all because who knows how hideously that would turn out.

 

            So, here he is, sitting in the abandoned park when he actually should be at school. He stubs the cigarette he’d been smoking out on the moldy wood underneath him when he feels a drop of cool water hit him straight on the nose. When he feels more droplets fall gently against his faded jeans and face, he slumps in his seat and basks in the cool air, thanking god that it’s not another unnaturally humid day like it had been the past few weeks. The drops accumulate and it starts raining harder, though it still remains light enough to be considered a drizzle.

 

            He breathes in through his nose deeply and closes his eyes, reveling in the earthy smell kicked up by the rain. When his bruised eye throbs once again, he’s reminded of how much he misses being back at his old school where nobody gave a damn about him.

 

-

 

            Dean shouldn’t be surprised when AJ decides it’s a good idea to appear next to his locker when he’s gathering his things from it and is about to leave the school the next day. Just seeing the brunet makes his temper soar to unimaginable heights and his fists clench and unclench, itching to feel some of AJ’s flesh bruise beneath his knuckles.

 

            “Get the fuck away from me, AJ,” Dean warns as he slams his locker shut and when he notices the smug grin plastered onto the brunet’s face, the thought of strangling him becomes more and more appealing with each passing second.

 

            “What’s your problem?” AJ feigns innocence and makes Dean want to smash his head through the paint-chipped, metal doors of the lockers next to them.

 

            “Get away from me before I snap your fucking neck,” He warns again through clenched teeth and AJ doesn’t listen, still lingering in his space. Fine. If he won’t fuck off, then Dean will fix the problem himself, so he sets off towards the main exit of the school at a brisk pace. The muscles in his legs protest the quick stride, sore from the numerous beatings he’s received in the last few days. He can hear AJ struggling to chase after him and once they cross the threshold to the outdoors, Dean feels a strong hand wrap around his wrist in an attempt to stop him. He can’t stop himself before he instinctually swings his fist, knuckles connecting with AJ’s cheek.

 

            AJ whips his head back to look Dean dead in the eyes and for once, much to his surprise consider everything that’s been happening lately, Dean hopes this doesn’t lead to a fist fight. Who knows if the other’s lackeys are waiting to attack him, he just doesn’t have it in him today. Something seems to prevent AJ from letting his fists fly, perhaps the look written across Dean’s face of exhaustion and craving to be left alone for once in his pathetic life. To not be the butt of every joke, to not be the odd ball who gets looked at like he’s an extraterrestrial every day in the halls and now, to not be harassed for something that only he’s known about for the longest time.

 

            He turns on his heels, the worn out rubber soles of his shoes scraping against the crumbling sidewalk when he begins walking away, only to be stopped _again_.

 

            “You must have a death wish,” Dean snarls, yet AJ remains unfazed.

 

            “It was a goddamned joke, Ambrose. No need to go psychotic over it,”

 

            “It was a _joke_? It sure didn’t feel like a joke when I was getting my food stolen from me at lunch, or when my face was getting scrubbed into the pavement on the goddamn streets! If this is a joke, excuse me for not fucking laughing,” Dean spits, glowering down at AJ.

 

            When AJ doesn’t say anything, Dean continues, “Also, thank you for spreading something around the school that’ll get my ass kicked by your bigoted friends for the rest of my residence here.”

 

            “Don’t act so high and mighty, you would’ve done the same thing to me,” AJ defends and Dean scoffs so hard his throat actually stings.

 

            “No, AJ, I wouldn’t have! I don’t know why you’ve got it in your head that I’m some asshole who would spread something like that around. I know your dad beats you, but I wouldn’t spread that around the entire school,” Dean states, bringing the volume of his voice down for the last part and he sees AJ tense at the end of his tirade. Though he’d usually try to be more careful with these kinds of subjects, he can’t find it in himself to give a shit.

 

            Suddenly he’s being yanked by the shorter student around to the side of the building where none of the other students are milling around and Dean fears he’s about to get another beating served to him hot in the lukewarm sunshine.

 

            “How the fuck do you know about that?” AJ grits out as he presses Dean against the brick siding of the school building by the collar of his hoodie.

 

            “I might not be the brightest bulb in the box, AJ, but I’m not stupid enough to be completely oblivious to things you weren’t trying very hard to hide. The alcohol in the bag you were carrying last week, the bruises and shit, I know what that looks and feels like,” Dean laughs a bit in spite of himself, wishing his brain would work faster than his mouth at this point to save him more trouble in the future that AJ will sure cause him.

           

            “You…”

 

            “Yeah, if it really means that much to you to know. Don’t tell me you’re surprised, you piece of shit. I’m from the fucking slums, I smoke, and I’m an outcast, what else would complete the package?”

 

            The two of them stay silent for a while just looking at each other, as if they’re trying to figure out what to do or say next. For Dean, this is a completely new experience for him. He’s never had someone who he’s had this in common with, not that he ever wanted someone to understand what it feels like to get hit by someone who’s supposed to love you. He hopes he hasn’t made another mistake in opening up to AJ like this, he doesn’t know what compelled him to do so in the first place since he usually keeps personal topics like that locked away from prying eyes.

 

            “I’m sorry,” AJ says meekly, catching Dean off guard completely. He never thought he’d hear an apology of any kind leave the other’s mouth, let alone one that’s directed at him.

 

            “Yeah, me too,” Dean responds, using an ornery laugh to cover up his initial shock.

 

            “No, I mean it,” AJ says pointedly, his gaze hardening to drive home what he’s said. Dean returns his hard gaze for a while. “I’m sorry for what I did.”

 

            Dean tears his gaze away from AJ’s piercing blue eyes to looks at the dirt under his nails and to pick the scabs on his knuckles. He lets out a deep sigh through his nose, slowly blinks before locking eyes with the brunet again. “I wish I could say I forgive you, but I honestly don’t know if I do.”

 

            With that, AJ’s shoulders slack a bit in apparent defeat at not being let off the hook easily. Something about that gesture and the disconcerted look in his blue eyes makes the inside of Dean’s skin itch and he hates it.

 

            “I appreciate the sentiment, though,” Dean offers, watching a sliver of hope return to the other’s expression. After another long pause, he asks, “How’s your cheek?”

 

            “It’s fine,” AJ replies, brushing his fingers absently over the red spot on his cheek that Dean’s fist contacted minutes earlier. The tension between the two of them seems to dissipate, now that they’ve both had a weight lifted off their shoulders. AJ backs away from Dean, moving to lean against the crumbling brick siding of the school beside the latter. Dean watches him move, feeling his emotions shift completely from the extreme anger he was feeling moments ago to curiosity and confusion.

 

            What did this mean for them now? Though the tension was no longer as thick, there’s a certain heaviness that surrounds them and prevents them from speaking their minds. Dean rolls his shoulders one at a time, trying to free himself from the confines of the heavy atmosphere around them. He wishes he could ask where they stand now, since they seem to have reached an armistice, at least for now. He doesn’t though, he doesn’t know what AJ’s response will be and if he’ll pull away from any sort of long-term truce.

 

            “Ah, shit,” Dean breathes, realizing what time it probably is.

 

            “What?” AJ asks, pulling himself from his self-induced daze to look at Dean.

 

            “I gotta run,” He says in response, beginning to walk away before turning around and walking backwards slowly. “I’ll give your apology some thought, if you actually mean it.”

 

            “Get outta here, Ambrose,” AJ retorts, a ghost of an awkward grin on his face that pulls at the corners of Dean’s lips as well, mirroring the expression. This whole situation still confuses the hell out of Dean, but there’ll be time to worry about that later. Right now he’s got to get to work or else he’ll get his ass kicked. Though, he’ll be getting his ass kicked anyway.

 

-

 

            _He grimaced as he felt the cartilage of the other’s nose crunch under his knuckles. Warm, red blood cascaded down his fingers and left a print on the other’s face when he threw another punch with the red-soaked fist. He locked eyes with the mountain of a man and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up from either fear or adrenaline._

_Angry, the man across from him looked like a great white shark when he shot towards him to tackle him onto the solid floor. Damn, he’s lucky his head didn’t bounce off of it or else he’d have a nasty concussion for sure. Somehow, he managed to stand up and evade the large, blond-haired man for a little while, attempting to make jabs at him to no avail._

_He felt as though he was a bit unevenly matched here; usually the boss matched him with someone in his weight class or the same size as him, not monsters like that guy. He wasn’t going to back down from a challenge though, he’d basically made a living out of proving people wrong. Still, he felt like he may have bit off more than he could chew this time._

_Especially when he got knocked down again and clonked his head on the barely protected, concrete floor, seeing enough stars for them to call the match._

_“And your winner; Brain Damage!” Dammit._

            “Here,” Dean hears a familiar voice behind him and turns around slowly to see Dolph standing behind him with a bag of ice. “Looks like you could use this for that goose-egg on your noggin.”

 

            “Thanks,” Dean replies, taking the bag of ice into his right hand and gingerly pressing it to the back of his head. He leans forward and rests the elbow of his left arm on his knee as he sits beneath the streetlamp on the curb once again. He can feel Dolph still looking at him and is probably trying to figure out something to say to him, but he eventually decides against it and goes back inside the store, the bell welcoming him inside.

 

            Dean closes his eyes and relishes in the cool relief the bag of ice gives the bump on the back of his head. If he leaves his eyes open, he might get nauseous again from the world spinning around him. He nearly got lost on his way here from work, which was strange because by now he could walk the exact path he takes every time in his sleep. Dean hangs his head and it feels like his brain is just sloshing around his skull, threatening to pour out of his ears.

 

            “You look like shit,” He hears another familiar voice from behind him, then the sounds of shoes scraping on concrete.

 

            “Tell me something I don’t know, Styles,” Dean quips, keeping his eyes closed to prevent more of a headache than he already has. He hears the scuffing of shoes get closer and a huff of air from the brunet that has now taken a spot on the curb next to him. They sit there on the rough ground under the humming of the millions of insects swarming the white light of the street lamp above them, a silence falling between the two of them.

 

            “How’d you get so banged up?” Dean startles slightly at the sound of AJ’s timid voice, opening his eyes to look at the other. He almost wants to laugh because of the drastic change he’s seen from the other; just the other day, the brunet was so concerned with making his life a living hell and now here he is, looking and sounding troubled by the fact that Dean looks –and feels— like he’s just been mauled by a bear. When he doesn’t answer immediately, AJ starts slowly, “Was it, um-“

 

            “No,” Dean interjects, voice flat and a bit more on edge than he meant it to sound. He lowers the arm that is holding the ice to his head when the cold starts becoming more painful than his brain pulsating against his skull and rests both of his elbows on this knees, the bag hanging from his bruised hand. “It was something else.”

 

            “And what’s that something else?” AJ asks, voice still careful as if he’s talking to a wild animal. Dean watches as he starts nervously picking at the skin surrounding his fingernails, finding amusement in the tiny, anxious mannerisms of the other student.

 

            “That’s for me to know and for you to never find out,” Dean says with a peculiar grin on his face. “Unless you’re really that curious about it, then you can find out for yourself.”

 

            Another wave of silence drapes itself over them like an itchy blanket, causing Dean to reach into his back pocket for his pack of cigarettes to relieve some of the tension in the air. He pops one stick between his busted lips and turns to offer one to AJ, who shakes his head with his nose scrunched up and his mouth open, about to say something.

 

            “I swear to Christ, if you’re about to say ‘you know, those’ll kill you,’ I will shove this bag of ice down your pants so that your dick freezes off,” Dean says around the cigarette, lighting it with shaky hands.

 

            “I wasn’t-“

 

            “Yes, you were. I could see the look on your face, it’s the same one that I’ve seen thousands of times right before people say that I’m killing myself slowly,” Dean takes a drag from the cigarette and exhales with a small chuckle. “What I don’t think they realize is that maybe I like it that way.”

 

            Dean doesn’t know why he told AJ that, he’s already made the mistake of letting slip his more personal experiences and this wouldn’t help his case either. What is it about AJ Styles being around him that makes him unable to shut his mouth?

 

            “I understand,” AJ says, tearing Dean from his slightly self-deprecating musings.

 

            “What do you mean you understand?”

 

            “What I mean is that I understand that feeling,” AJ continues. “Whenever I end up with fresh set of bruises and cuts it makes me feel like I’ve been doing something wrong, that things would be better off if I’d done at least one thing right so he wouldn’t get so mad at me.”

 

            Dean flicks the ashes from the end of his cigarette while he listens. A strange feeling settles in his shoulders and in the pit of his stomach, whether it’s sympathy or something else, he doesn’t know. It almost astonishes him that the other is opening up to him about something this private, especially after the weeks they’ve spent tormenting each other, mentally and physically.

           

            “It’s not your fault, AJ,” He reassures, stubbing his cigarette out on the asphalt next to his worn-out boots and angling himself towards the shorter teen next to him. “You know that, right?”

 

            “I guess so, but I still feel guilty,” AJ murmurs, brows scrunched together as he watches himself pick at the skin by his nails again, this time more furiously. Dean reaches out to grab his hands, wrenching them away from each other to stop AJ from literally tearing himself up.

 

            “I understand that, but you need to know none of it’s your fault,” Dean says with conviction. “I know it’s hard to not feel guilty for it, but what he does is all on him.”

 

            AJ raises his gaze from his hands and locks his blue eyes with Dean’s, leaving the blond feeling a bit gutted from the unsure look he’s receiving. AJ nods slowly, simultaneously breaking their stare and Dean retracts his hands, though he finds he didn’t mind the feeling of AJ’s skin under his fingertips, even if it wasn’t with a violent purpose.

 

            “Thanks,” AJ says after a while of them sitting next to each other, the silence between them somehow lighter this time though their discussion was anything but. With that, AJ stands from his spot next to Dean on the curb and begins slowly walking away, hands in the pockets of his jeans. Dean watches him go, eyes following AJ until he becomes a small silhouette in the darkness of the sidewalk.

 

            He looks down at the cigarette that lays next to his foot, the embers that burned once upon a time now blackened and dead. Dean stares at it for a moment before looking back up to where AJ disappeared to, replaying the conversation they just had over and over again in his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, I'm so sorry for taking so long with this update, but here I am!  
> Hopefully I won't take so long with the next update, starting school again has been a bit of struggle, but I'll get through it and get this story out for you guys :)  
> (I'm gonna try to update the next chapter according to the original updating schedule (the beginning of the month), but if it comes out around the middle or the end of the month, sorry in advance)

            It’s been several days since Dean and AJ last spoke to each other, leaving thousands of questions racing through Dean’s mind. He hasn’t seen the other around school and he wonders if it has anything to do with AJ’s dad or if he’s just being ignored.

 

            Things still haven’t improved at school, however. Not that Dean expected everything to be all sunshine and rainbows since he and AJ aren’t at each other’s throats anymore. He’s still being spat at in the hallways, literally and figuratively, and the Wyatts are finding more creative ways to insult him. Though his blood boils every time he thinks about it, he has to hand it to the Wyatts for being more than the backwater hillbillies he thought they were (besides Randy, he doesn’t give that piece of shit any credit for the creative insults).

 

            Dean scratches a cut that lies beneath his dirty blond bangs, wincing when his blunt nail accidentally removes part of the scab. Mr. Kane drones on in front of him and his peers, though he doesn’t care much to listen (does he ever?) to his ramblings about Bunsen burner safety. He knows that shit already, learned it when dicking around with Seth in their Chemistry class last year. Dean looks at his left index finger after recalling the memory, examining the small scar he’d earned himself along with his friend’s amusement from mishandling a spark lighter.

 

            “Mr. Ambrose, I suggest you listen to this if nothing else in my class. We can’t have you burning down the entire school,” Mr. Kane says, voice apathetic as if he really doesn’t care if Dean does burn down the school. Their eyes lock onto each other for a moment, Dean’s blue-gray eyes challenging Mr. Kane’s steely ones. He can see the teacher’s jaw set and it makes Dean crack a small grin, knowing that he at least got the older man a little frustrated. He breaks their gaze to look at the handout Mr. Kane passed out at the beginning of class and pretends to pay attention as the bald man’s monotonous voice carries on where he left off.

 

-

 

            Dean’s jaw pops as he munches on the orange-dusted Dorito pinched between his fingers and he winces, grasping the side of his face in an attempt to chase away the soreness that lingers. Eventually, it subsides and he pops it back into place just as the chair next to him is being scraped against the tiled floor. He turns his attention to the person who is now tentatively placing his scrawny frame into the plastic chair.

 

            “Hey James,” Dean says with shards of Dorito still lingering on his tongue. He cracks a small smile at seeing the other teen, he hadn’t seen him for the past couple weeks and he can’t really believe it, but he kind of missed the little guy.

 

            “Uh, hey,” James mumbles. He shifts in his chair and scoots it closer to the table to start picking apart the edible pieces of food on his Styrofoam tray.

 

            “What have you been up to lately? I haven’t seen your scrawny ass anywhere for the past couple weeks,” Dean questions while he crumples up the plastic chip bag and tosses it into the yellow trashcan behind him.

 

            “I’ve been,” James pauses to audibly swallow, “around, you know.”

 

            “No, James. I really don’t,” Dean deadpans, looking down at his nearly empty tray, jaw tense and knowing he sounds a little pissed. Hell, he has a little bit of a right to be if James has been avoiding him for the reason he thinks. “Don’t tell me you’re a bigot too.”

 

            “What? No, no! I just—“ James tries, startled by Dean’s accusation but stops himself, slapping himself in the forehead. “This is gonna sound like an awful excuse and I know it’s stupid, but just hear me out.”

 

            “I’m listening,” Dean looks up to offer a calm smile before adding, “Unless it’s to insult me, then you should leave before I beat the shit out of you.”

 

            James shifts under his calm exterior, telling Dean that it’s working to make him uncomfortable. James brings his sweatshirt clad elbows up to rest on the table, clasping his hands as he seems to consider his word choice. “I was avoiding you because I saw how bad they were treating you,” He says, rhythm slow and voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t want to get harassed more than I usually do.”

 

            Dean considers James’ excuse for a minute or two. It’s understandable, he supposes. James has told him before about how badly he’s been treated in the past by the likes of the Wyatt family and AJ so it makes sense for him to avoid drawing attention to himself.

 

            “It’s not about the rumor, I swear,” James adds before Dean can say anything. After a few moments of contemplation and Dean looking into James’ anxious eyes in search of fallacy, he simply nods and turns his attention back to his lunch without another word. He feels a little bad for assuming that James was as horrible as the rest of his classmates, but what was he supposed to think?

 

            The two sit in silence—well, as silent as can be in a high school cafeteria—for a while, picking away at the mush on their trays until everything that was slightly appealing to eat is gone. As an apologetic gesture, Dean sticks out his hand when James looks like he’s about to get up to throw his tray away, earning a confused stare for a second before being handed the tray. When he turns back to face James after getting rid of their garbage, he sees the smaller teen wringing his hands.

 

            “Stop that,” Dean says after a tired sigh, startling James’ hands away from each other.

 

            “W-What?” James stutters.

 

            “You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me,” He answers. “I get why you did it and it’s okay.”

 

            A small smile creeps onto James’ face after processing what he’s been told, eyes lighting up at Dean’s forgiveness. Almost immediately, they both fall back into their old rhythm of James yapping his ear off but instead of feeling annoyance breathing down the back of his neck, he feels relief. Finally, at least something has gone back to being normal around here.

 

            They chit chat all the way until the bell rings for them to go to their next class and for the first time, Dean wishes he had James in more of his classes so he didn’t have to face the looks of hatred he gets from him classmates by himself. Not that he _needs_ a crutch, but it would be nice to have one.

 

-

 

            It’s the end of the day when he sees AJ and his goons where Dean has now deemed their usual spot; next to a section of lockers that stands adjacent from his own and nearly next to the main exit of the school. It feels strange to see the brunet and not feel the need to knock his brain a little loose, but Dean must admit it’s a nice change. He’s walking towards his locker, being shoved in every which direction by the students surrounding him when he and AJ make eye contact. When their eyes lock onto each other, Dean cracks a small grin and gives a small, two-fingered wave.

 

            What he earns in return is a hard glare before the gaze is quickly averted, seemingly just before Anderson and Gallows follow his gaze. Dean watches them, seeing AJ say something to his taller friends before they look over to him and give what looks like a hearty laugh, ghoulish smiles stretching on both of their faces.

 

            “Don’t just stop in the hallway, asshole,” Dean hears in his right ear and he realizes he’s standing stock still in the middle of the busy hallway. The smirk that had taken a nomadic residence on his face is now long gone as he pastes his usual apathetic expression on top of one full of confusion and slight hurt.

 

            He tears his eyes away from the brunet and his friends, walking straight to his locker to throw his textbooks inside and walks towards the exit of the school. He won’t let himself look back once he’s got his hand on the cool, metal push bar on the door, telling himself that he doesn’t want to know if they’re still laughing at him or if they’re even watching him.

 

            He lets his legs carry him down the concrete stairs leading to the rest of the world from the small school building, letting a small sigh escape his lips all the while. Shame burns the back of his neck much like the seething sun above him and he knows he shouldn’t have expected things to change between them that quickly. Or even at all.

 

            Dean doesn’t notice where his legs are taking him until he sees the familiar pattern of cracks in the sidewalk that leads him to the park. Once he sees the rotting bench, he feels relief slither up his arms to relax the tension that hadn’t left his shoulders since the end of the school day. He strides over to the bench and sits down like he had numerous times before, leaning forward on his elbows and places his head in his hands.

 

            He sits there with his eyes closed and feeling the occasional soft breeze brush through his hair, listening to the leaves rustling overhead. He feels laughter start bubbling in his chest before he’s chuckling in spite of himself.

 

            Why does he care so much about what AJ does all of a sudden? Weeks ago he wouldn’t have given the brunet a second thought if it meant he would be left alone. Perhaps it all changed when he found out he and AJ have something in common, and even that was based on a weak assumption.

 

            Dean raises his face so his hands no longer cover his eyes and he just breathes. He’s never been so glad to be alone in his life— no, that’s not true. He can definitely remember a time when he was practically overjoyed by the simple fact that he was by himself.

 

            _Slam! “No, come back!” Slam!_

Dean cringes at the memory. He remembers the vibration of the apartment building as the door was opened and slammed shut, opened and slammed shut once more until he was all alone. A cold feeling settles in the pit of his stomach and the serenity he’d been feeling moments ago disappears like a flame in a gust of wind. He needs to get out of here, he needs to talk to someone so he can get rid of the static in his head, bringing these god awful memories to the forefront of his brain.

 

            He shoots to his feet and makes haste back to the decrepit sidewalk. His worn out boots scrape against the concrete as he shuffles along the path, though his pace quickens when it feels like someone has a hold of his lungs and is squeezing the holy hell out of them.

 

            He never thought he’d feel so relieved to see his dilapidated house come into view, thanking his lucky stars that no one seems to be home, considering he lost track of time if the darkening sky above him is any signal. Once Dean reaches the front door, his shaking hands fumble with his house key in the lock and he rests his forehead on the door, trying to take a deep breath to calm himself down though it proves futile.

 

            He shoves the door open once it’s unlocked and rushes inside, slamming the door behind him and not bothering to turn on any lights. Dean makes a beeline for the landline that sits on an end table in the living room and frantically punches in Roman’s number.

 

            He paces back and forth in a short path, threading his fingers through his hair as he listens to the phone dialing.

 

            “Come on, pick up,” He murmurs to himself, eyes now closed and breathing still stressed. He stops pacing, shoulders tensing as he feels like the room is closing in on him and all he can do is try to calm his breathing.

 

            “ _Hello?_ ” Dean almost cries at the sound of his best friend’s rumbling voice over the line.

 

            “Roman! Hey, what are you— what’s happening, man?” He tumbles over the panicked, casual introduction.

 

            “ _Dean, what’s wrong?_ ” Roman asks and Dean is eternally grateful that they know each other so well.

 

            “I-I need to talk to someone, I can’t breathe,” Dean pants, lungs still feeling constricted as he slumps down into a sitting position on the wooden floor.

 

            “ _Alright, just breathe with me for a bit then,”_

 

-

 

            The next day, Dean feels jittery. It’d been a while since his last panic attack and he nearly forgot what the aftershocks of it felt like, but he’s glad he was able to stop himself from hyperventilating. Of course, he has to give credit to Roman because of how well he knows how to handle Dean when he’s like that.

 

            He sits at his table in Modern Literature twiddling his thumbs, not because he’s putting off doing his work but because he can hardly hear himself think over the static that’s taken a residence in his head. Unlike yesterday, this static is more like white noise, canceling out the far away and negative thoughts in favor of the more present and less emotionally draining thoughts. He’s thankful for the silence, however, as he needs a break from thinking today.

 

            The bell rings, signaling the end of the day and Dean nearly doesn’t hear it over the noise in his head. He lets his body go on autopilot, absently carrying him through the hallways and to the exit of the school, not bothering to grab any of his homework that he won’t do anyways.

 

            He’s nearly off the school’s property when he feels a firm hand on his shoulder and he fears for a moment he’s about to be thrown into a fight that he’s not willing to get into today. The owner of the hand spins him around and Dean looks down at the short, brunet in front of him with tired eyes.

 

            “You look like a ghost, Ambrose, what’s up?” AJ asks, a light-hearted grin on his face that makes something in Dean’s chest clench, though he can’t bother to return the gesture.

 

            “Fuck off,” Dean grumbles, brows drawn together and lips twisted into a frown as he turns around to walk away from the other student.

 

            “Jesus, who pissed in your cheerios?” AJ asks, tone still light and unaware of Dean’s anger towards him. AJ’s obliviousness only serves to frustrate Dean even more, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn back to the brunet.

 

            “Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

 

            “Actually, yeah, ‘cause I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

 

            “I thought that us talking about all that personal shit was a silent agreement to not fuck with each other anymore, but maybe I was mistaken,” Dean states, throwing his arms out to the side only to let gravity yank them back down, hitting his jean-clad legs with a muffled _slap_. When AJ doesn’t say anything for a few beats, confusion still inhabiting his features, Dean continues. “You know I saw you talking shit yesterday, and the way your lackeys looked over to me before laughing like hyenas tells me that you said something about me.”

 

            Dean searches AJ’s face for something that will tell him that he’s wrong, but all he earns is realization flashing across the shorter teen’s face. When a look of shame crosses his face, Dean can’t help but to laugh in spite of himself.

 

            “God, I’m so stupid,” He mumbles amidst his laughter.

 

            “Dean, let me explain,” AJ finally pipes up.

 

            “Alright, Styles, humor me,” Dean says after a moment of seriously considering just blowing him off.

“Look, I swear to god that I didn’t say anything about what we talked about the other night, you have to believe me,” AJ starts and Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “I did say something about you but I promise it was only because they started it.”

 

            “So you were just going along with them,” Dean states and AJ nods in agreement. “Why?”

 

            “Well, don’t you think it would raise some questions if I were to suddenly start defending you when we’ve been trying to kill each other since the beginning of the school year?” AJ asks and continues without waiting for any sort of answer. “It would raise questions that I don’t think either of us will want to answer.”

 

            They both stand there in silence on the sidewalk as cars whizz by on the street, letting what AJ last said seep into Dean’s mind. He’s right, Dean admits to himself and feels a little guilty for acting like a bit of an asshole.

 

            “You’re right, sorry,” Dean admits out loud, though it’s like he’s coughing up nails. He looks down at his fingers which he didn’t realize were picking at the scabs on his knuckles, sighing and almost jumping out of his skin when AJ’s hands come to pull them away from each other. Dean lifts his gaze to AJ’s again, regretfully relishing in the contact between them before the other pulls his hands away quickly.

 

            AJ looks away from Dean, seemingly trying to look everywhere but him after his awkward display of affection. It begins to bother him, however, now that they stand there in an uncomfortable silence while the cool wind rushes past their ears and the distant sounds of the students leaving the school grounds float through the air.

 

            “Well, I’m gonna get going then,” Dean says just to fill the silence and he sees AJ make brief eye contact with him before giving a silent nod. There’s something about the look on the shorter teen’s face that resembles dejection and so Dean decides to throw him a line. “You’re welcome to join, I’m not going straight home.”

 

            At that, AJ seems to perk up a little and it nearly pulls a smile onto his face as it reminds him of a puppy. Dean starts walking, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, turning back to check if the brunet is following him and is met with the sight of the other scurrying to catch up with him.

 

            They walk along the same sidewalk that Dean sees on most days after school, a strange silence still hanging above their heads like the high branches of the many trees along the street and in the yards of a few houses they pass. Unlike before, the stillness between them doesn’t feel as labored as it did moments ago, though still uncomfortable enough to make Dean’s skin crawl.

 

            Eventually, the duo reaches the abandoned park and the taller of the two relaxes his shoulders when he takes in the green expanse in front of him. He stops walking and closes his eyes, inhaling the woodsy scent that wafts from the dirt and the trees, feeling at peace.

 

            “What are you doing?” A voice interrupts his thoughts, bringing a crease to his brow and a sigh. He opens his eyes to see AJ standing adjacent from him with a curious look on his face, his bag hanging from one shoulder and looking as if it’s about to come crashing to the ground.

 

            “Relaxing. You should try it some time,” Dean quips, tossing his bag on the ground next to his usual spot on the crumbling bench. He stretches his arms out over the back of the bench, letting his head fall back when he feels the planks of wood underneath him shift under AJ’s weight. It feels strange to him, being here with someone else when he’s the only one who ever comes here. What’s even more strange to him is that he doesn’t mind the brunet’s company as much as he thought he would.

 

            “I didn’t know this place was here,” AJ states, thinking out loud. Dean lifts his head to look at his bench partner, retracting his arms to his lap and leaning forward on his elbows.

 

            “I’m surprised you didn’t, you’ve been here longer than I have,” Dean says, looking across the field speckled with small, white flowers in front of them.

 

            “I guess so, but I haven’t been here _that_ long,” AJ responds.

 

            “Oh yeah? When did you move here?” Dean asks, turning his attention to the teen beside him.

 

            “I think it was around four years ago. I moved here from Georgia,” He answers and earns a nod in response.

 

            “Why would you move up here from somewhere nice and warm?” Dean jokes, though he’s genuinely curious. The fall and winter months in Ohio can be a bitch to deal with, even in the southern parts, and he’d much rather be somewhere warmer.

 

            “Work. My dad got a promotion in Cincinnati,” AJ explains and continues with: “Believe me, I’d rather be somewhere warmer and with much less snow.” A chuckle rises out of Dean’s throat, earning a strange look from the other as a knowing smile grows on his features.

 

            “What about you?”

 

            “ _What_ about me?”

 

            “Why’d you move here?” AJ asks, leaning back against the back of the bench.

 

            “Change of scene, you know,” Dean shrugs after a short pause and receiving a scoff from AJ. “What?”

 

            “Don’t brush me off like that, I answered all of your questions honestly and now it’s your turn,” He crosses his arms at his chest.

 

            “I’m being honest,” As soon as those words leave his mouth, AJ shoots him a hard glare that goes right through him, suddenly making him feel like he’s been cut open and vulnerable. “My mom wanted to get away from the environment of the city. We didn’t live in a great area so she thought it would be good for us both to get out.”

 

            AJ nods and looks away from him, into the field where Dean had just been looking moments ago, the only sounds surrounding them being the squawks of the birds overhead and the sudden gust of cool air rustling the leaves of the trees.

 

            “I’ve never been in downtown Cincinnati,” The brunet blurts out, gaze still locked onto something hundreds of feet in front of him.

 

            “Really?” Dean asks, thankful for the slight change of subject. AJ lets out a small _yup_ and Dean leans back in his seat once more. “Well, maybe someday we can take an adventure, if you’re willing to trust me as your tour guide.”

 

            “Maybe,” AJ says thoughtfully.

 

            Quiet envelopes them for what feels like the thousandth time today, however this time it feels much less tense than earlier. Dean closes his eyes once more, enjoying the small sounds of nature and, dare he say, AJ’s company.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, sorry I'm late again!

            “Ugh,” Dean groans, flopping down in the leaf-scattered grass. He looks up at the blue sky and the colorful leaves hanging above him, the view soon being obstructed when the crunch of leaves under boots draws closer and AJ comes to loom over him.

 

            “God, you’re so dramatic,” AJ shakes his head, looking down at the blond with faux scrutiny. A wolfish grin sneaks onto Dean’s features just before he reaches up to poke the shorter teen above him on the back of his knee, causing him to squawk as his knee nearly gives out. “What the hell!”

 

            “That’s what you get for calling me dramatic,” Dean retorts, lifting his head to pull the hood of his worn out, yellow hoodie over his curly hair before resting it against the cold, hard ground. AJ huffs as he moves to sit down next to Dean, folding his legs underneath himself and resting his elbows on his knees.

 

            Dean takes a deep, relaxing breath, inhaling the sweet, September air and enjoying the rapidly cooling air, even though he’d prefer it to be a bit warmer. For a couple of weeks now, coming to the park has become an almost daily after school activity for the two teens and, though Dean would never admit it out loud, he’s become much more comfortable around the other since their little misunderstanding. During school, they don’t try to talk to each other, a silent agreement not to start shit with each other to keep up appearances and so far it’s been working.

 

            The insults that Dean was receiving so consistently have finally started to diminish, though they are still present, but most of the student body has seemed to move on or wise up to the fact that it was a rumor. He’d love for it to stay that way as well, the speculations about his sexuality under the guise of a rumor instead of a well-known fact.

 

            Despite the fact that he and AJ have become what some could call friends, Dean feels no need to discuss such a topic with the other, seeing as he started the rumor in the first place to hurt him. Every now and again, fear settles in the pit of his stomach at the thought of AJ finding out and causing their acquaintanceship to crumble and be replaced by what their relationship used to be.

 

            “How is it that every time I see you, you’ve got a new set of bruises?” AJ’s concerned voice rips him from his musings with a small _huh?_ At the noise, AJ gestures to his knuckles, swollen and dusted with reds and purples.

 

            “Work,” Dean affirms simply, moving his hands to rub his right thumb over the tender knuckles of his left hand.

 

            “Where the hell do you work that you come back with bruises in so many places? I could understand if it were just on your hands but I’ve seen them on your face and arms too,” AJ interrogates, looking down at his own hands briefly before looking back at Dean with his brows furrowed. “If there’s something going on, you know you can tell me.”

 

            “AJ,” Dean sits up, resting back on his elbows and looking at the other’s downcast features. “I’m telling you the truth, so you don’t need to freak out.”

 

            “I’m not freaking out,” AJ snaps, shooting a weak glare down at Dean. “I just— I feel like I’m always the one dumping all of my problems on you and you never get to dump your problems on me, and don’t tell me you don’t have any problems because we both know you do.”

 

            “Wow, rude,” Dean feigns offense. That earns him a hard look from AJ and a playful shove to his shoulder, knocking him back down to the ground.

 

            “I’m being serious, jackass,” AJ practically whines, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

            “I know,” Dean responds, laying back in the imprint he left in the grass and intertwining his fingers over his abdomen. “There just aren’t many problems I’m dealing with directly right now, like you. My dad hasn’t been around for ten years and the only people who pose a similar threat to me as he did are my mom’s boyfriends, but I can dodge those pieces of shit.”

 

            “Jesus, ten years?”

 

            “Yeah,”

 

            The conversation between them halts after that, and gives way to the sounds of drying leaves scraping against each other. Dean closes his eyes and hears AJ moving around next to him, presumably laying back in the grass as well. He can feel a smile forming on his lips at the peace that overcomes his senses at this moment, feeling like nothing could ruin it.

 

            “You’re still dramatic,” Of _fucking_ course.

 

            “Shut up,”

-

            _Crunch._

_He didn’t know if it was possible, but he simultaneously loved and hated that sound. He knew it made him a bit of a sadist, but he loved the sound and feeling of another person’s nose breaking under his raw, red-dusted knuckles._

_There was a holler of pain from the other man, haughty and animalistic as though it helped release the pain and served to egg him on in the fight. The man lunged at him, grabbing his right wrist and twisting it behind his back, pain shooting through the tendons that ran up his arm. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to show the immense pain he was feeling to the crowd, they always ate that stuff right up._

_He could feel something tweak in his wrist from being contorted in such an unnatural position and he finally let out a growl in pain, earning some cheers from the more sadistic patrons surrounding the two of them. With as much force as he could muster in the prone position he was crouched in, he launched his foot backwards and into the shin of the man behind him._

_When he was granted his release, he snapped back into action, serving several punches to the face and the gut with his left fist while cradling his right arm. He cursed under his breath, knowing that with his dominant arm being out of commission would only serve to make his difficult match-up practically impossible. He’s said before, however, that he could finish matches like this one with his arm tied behind his back._

_It was time to deliver on that statement._

-

            Dean has his eyes trained on his right hand, trembling fingers loosely gripping his pencil over the multiple-choice sheet in front of him. Every now and again, his fingers will twitch as they throb incessantly, pulling his attention away from the paper underneath his hands and frustrating him to no end.

 

            He lifts his head to catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall to his left, his neck sore from hunching over his test and heart sinking slightly when he sees that there are only five minutes left of the class period. Bringing his attention back to the test in front of him, he skims over the questions in the test packet and tries to answer the questions the best he can.

 

His ears are flooded with the sound of the bell and the sounds of students groaning and the screeching of the chairs against the linoleum floor that follow immediately afterwards, leaving him to be the last one with his test out. Randomly filling in the last few bubbles on the answer sheet, he jumps out of his chair and hands his test over to Mr. Hart, whose face softens slightly with sympathy.

 

He hauls his bag over his shoulder and makes haste towards the hallway where the rest of the students have begun to coagulate. One thing Dean hates about this school, and there are _a lot_ of things he hates about it, is that it always seems like this school wasn’t built to contain as many students as it has. The hallways are like a highway during rush hour and there’s a capsized semi-truck blocking nearly every lane, especially at the end of the school day.

 

Dean just stands outside of Mr. Hart’s room, thankful that the classroom sits in a dent in the wall so that he isn’t being pressed into the cinderblock walls or being shoved past. He feels another twinge in his wrist, causing a grimace to appear on his face as he cradles his arm once again.

 

Finally, the mass of students thins out enough for Dean’s liking and he decides to venture into the stream of stragglers, making his way towards his locker. Once he reaches it, he struggles with the combination of his locker with his left hand and is suddenly reminded of the time AJ smashed his fingers with his locker door. Ah, good times.

 

It’s much more difficult this time, however, as whenever he moves his wrist in any way, it gives a strong pang of discomfort, making it a harder task to get his books in and out of his bag.

 

“Hey fuck face,” He hears a fond voice from behind him before AJ comes into view, leaning against the locker next to his.

 

“Hey,” Dean replies, voice plain as his brows furrow in confusion. “You know we’re still in school, right?”

 

“Yeah, I’m not stupid,” AJ says.

 

“Then what are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be with your little posse?” Dean inquires, wincing slightly when he begins lifting his bag to his shoulder with his right arm.

 

“Nah, they’re staying after school for some club,” AJ says, seemingly and luckily not noticing Dean’s discomfort.

 

The two begin their journey to the abandoned park, which has sort of become their hang-out spot after school to do homework, talk, or both. It’s a little strange to Dean, having spent the first month of school practically by himself, only to now be spending most of his time that isn’t spent at school or at work with AJ.

 

Even if they’re enveloped in complete silence, the brunet’s presence somehow manages to put Dean at ease. He never fashioned himself as someone who forgives easily, but he finds it surprisingly easy to put all the stuff that happened between them behind him. He figures he should let AJ know that he’s practically forgiven him for what happened, but something stops him from doing so. Perhaps it’s his fear of being left behind by people that prevents him, though he already knows all too well how it feels to be left on the curb like a bag of trash.

 

They reach the park and sit side-by-side on the rotting bench, Dean letting his bag slide off him and onto the ground beside the bench while AJ swings his around and into his lap. For nearly an hour, the two sit there with homework under their hands, idle chatter in their mouths, and wind in their hair.

 

Dean rolls up the sleeves of his black hoodie and tries to dig into his Physics homework, wrist aching as he writes out his answers to the questions on the worksheet. When it starts to stiffen and cramp more than usual, he spares it a glance and is startled by the red and purple bruise that had apparently been forming without him being aware.

 

“Christ,” AJ blurts out, making Dean jump, “what the hell did you do now?” He puts down whatever homework he’d been working on and shifts his position on the bench so that he’s sitting on his left leg while the other hangs off the edge of the bench.

 

“Nothing,” Dean mumbles, pulling the sleeve back down and being fully aware that he’s not going to get away with it.

 

“Don’t bullshit me Dean,” AJ scolds, brows furrowed as he grabs the blond’s arm and draws the sleeve up to reveal the bruised, and now becoming slightly inflamed, limb. Dean watches as the other’s clear eyes rake over the magenta splotches that litter his wrist and sighs in defeat when he looks up at him with a sad and questioning look.

 

“It’s from work,” He admits, hoping to steer AJ away from what Dean knows he’s thinking. He doesn’t want to lie to AJ either, especially when he looks at him like that.

 

“Okay,” AJ says, letting go of Dean’s wrist and crossing his arms over his chest, “where the hell do you work? You’re always covered in bruises, cuts, and sometimes even blood when I apparently catch you right after work. Now this? I don’t mean to nag, but why the hell are you lying about this shit?”

 

“I’m not lying,” Dean interjects, jaw clenched.

 

“How am I supposed to believe you when it looks like someone’s been beating you? You always let me dump my problems on you and yet, every time I see you, you look worse for wear,” AJ looks down, his shoulders slumping as he drags a hand down his face in frustration.

 

“I’m not lying, AJ,” Dean repeats as he tries to buy himself some time to think about whether he should tell AJ what he does for a living or just brush it off.

 

“Did you at least get worker’s comp for that?” AJ asks in defeat after a short period of silence and Dean almost laughs.

 

“No,”

 

“No?”

 

“No,”

 

“Does your boss know about it?”

 

“Yep,”

 

“Did they file an incident report?”

 

“No,”

 

“Wha— Dean, that’s illegal!” AJ shouts, eyes wide and Dean can’t hold in his laughter anymore. “What’s so funny?”

 

“Nothing,” He responds and earns himself an angry glare from the brunet. “It would just be kind of useless for incident reports to get filed every time someone got hurt at my job.”

 

“And why’s that?” AJ asks, tone laced with annoyance and curiosity.

 

“Getting hurt happens too frequently, it would just be a waste of time and resources,” Dean answers. For a split second, he thought about spilling the beans to AJ about where he works, before realizing how bad of an idea that is.

 

“Still, that’s bullshit that you aren’t being compensated for this, even if it happens frequently,” AJ huffs and a silence falls over them.

 

While Dean doesn’t usually mind the silence, something about how their conversation ended makes his skin crawl. A cold breeze blows past the two of them, penetrating the fabric of both of their jackets and making them both shiver. Suddenly, a loud sigh erupts from the brunet and he stands up from his seat.

 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks after a moment of watching AJ pack up his bag, swing it over his shoulder, and start packing up Dean’s bag.

 

“Packing up so we can go get your arm checked out,” AJ says as if it were obvious.

 

“What?” Dean asks again, confused, before AJ grabs his good arm and tugs him into a standing position.

 

“Come on,” AJ starts walking with his hands in the pockets on his jeans. When he realizes Dean is still standing by the bench, he stops and looks over his shoulder. “Come on.”

 

It takes another fifteen seconds for Dean to make sense of the situation before he hoists his bag onto his shoulder and jogs to catch up to the shorter teen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it to this point in the story, thank you so much reading and sticking with this story so far! I want to be able to update this story more, so I will try in the future to churn out more chapters at a time.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, you guys have no idea how sorry I am for how late this chapter is. Just wow. I hope you guys can forgive me...heh.  
> This one is much longer than the others, partly because I said to someone that I'd post two chapters this month, but got busy and just wrote a long one instead! I hope everyone had a good holiday, and Happy New Year :)  
> I hope you guys like it!

            A sprained wrist.

 

            At least, that’s what the school nurse told he and AJ when they appeared in her office minutes before she was due to leave for the day. Dean felt bad for the woman, who probably thought she’d finally be able to go home and relax, until two scraggly students stumbled in and ruined it.

 

            Dean stares down at the compression wrap on his wrist instead of paying attention to Mr. Nash giving his lecture, as per usual, mind wandering.

 

It’s curious to Dean, how everything happened yesterday between him and AJ. He isn’t used to someone being concerned about his well-being, his mom sure couldn’t give less of a shit and he doesn’t have Roman, or even Seth for that matter, to keep him in check anymore. To have someone worrying about him, especially AJ, leaves a fluttering feeling in his gut, the same feeling he gets before going into a fight; nervous and excited.

 

It’s a sensation that’s all too familiar to him and makes his heart beat a little faster than before. Dean forces himself to look up from his arm and to Mr. Nash scribbling equations on the whiteboard at the front of the classroom before his train of thought can get onto a set of tracks he doesn’t want it to go down.

 

-

 

            The sensation doesn’t go away like he hoped it would. Every time it goes away, it comes back a few minutes later like a pesky fly that Dean just can’t seem to chase away. He knows what this feeling is, he’s felt it before and it brought him nothing but strife.

 

            When the time comes for the school day to end and for he and AJ to take their routine stroll to the park, he forces himself to stamp down the feeling with all his might.

 

            “How’s your wrist doing?” AJ asks, hunched over the textbook in his lap and Dean feels his chest constrict.

 

            “Fine,” He answers, mentally kicking himself for melting under the brunet’s concern for him. Perhaps that’s only what it was, the fact that he was being fretted over for the first time in a long while.

 

            “Just fine?” AJ asks, blue eyes flicking up to meet Dean’s.

 

            “Yep,” Dean says, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

 

            He feels a little bad for how awkward he’s making this conversation, especially since the two of them are now caught in an uncomfortable silence that makes Dean want to yell, just so there’s something going on.

 

            They sit together on the bench like they have every other time they’ve come here, but the air feels different to Dean. Perhaps it’s the incessant thoughts bouncing off the inside of his skull that makes the air more difficult to breathe and some sort of tension hang above his head. He’s vaguely aware of AJ rustling through his bookbag next to him, pulling one book out at a time and placing them in his lap. Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looks out into the field for something to distract his brain from its current train of thought.

 

            “Dean,” AJ’s voice snaps him out of his daze and he flinches slightly, turning his head to look at the other.

 

            “What’s up?” Dean mumbles, hoping he sounds casual.

 

            “I should be asking you the same question,” AJ answers skeptically. “You seem a little out of it, what’s going on?”

 

            “Just thinking,” Dean admits regretfully, directing his gaze in front of him and down into the palms of his hands.

 

            “Shocker,” AJ huffs a laugh, a playful look meeting Dean’s own confused one. At the upward quirk of the corners of AJ’s lips into a grin, a warm feeling takes residence in Dean’s chest and he can’t help but let out a small chuckle.

 

            Dean leans over to reach into his bag, grabbing his books and notebooks and placing them in his lap much like AJ did moments earlier. When he finally leans back and begins opening one of them, he hears paper tearing and has a moment of mild panic, thinking he just tore up one of his textbooks. AJ hands him a small piece of notebook paper and Dean realizes, rather stupidly, that it was the brunet tearing the paper and not himself. He examines the paper, a ten-digit phone number hastily scrawled on it in black pen.

 

            “If you’re ever thinking too much,” AJ states, avoiding eye contact with Dean by looking at his open notebook, the page torn at the corner.

 

            Though he’s sure AJ can’t tell, the warm feeling in Dean’s chest grows even warmer, pulling the corners of his mouth into not a grin, but a genuine smile.

 

-

 

            The month of September bleeds into October and the feeling still hasn’t gone away, much to Dean’s chagrin. It could be all the time that he and AJ spend together that makes the blossoming feeling more incessant.

 

To be frank, it’s scaring the shit out of him.

 

If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t matter so much to him. If it were James, it wouldn’t matter so much to him, since they don’t hang out outside of school anyways. If it were Randy, he would give a little bit of a shit since Randy’s an asshole and he would need to do some serious reevaluating.

 

It’s no one else but AJ, however, and it matters way too much to him.

 

 He’s had these feelings for friends before and more often than not, they never lead to anything good.

 

Dean sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, simultaneously thankful to be alone and resentful of his mother for leaving him alone with his thoughts. He’s been doing too much thinking lately and he’s fairly certain that AJ has begun to notice. Nearly every time the two of them have hung out since Dean came to the realization of his feelings that he still adamantly refuses to think about (though it never works), Dean has been acting more than a little strange.

 

The two of them will be sitting side by side on the bench like they always do and, where they used to be close enough that they could knock knees with each other, Dean has started scooting farther to his side of the bench. AJ always eventually closes the gap until they can each feel the heat emanating through their jeans. If he’s ever thinking about how strangely Dean has been acting around him, he doesn’t say it aloud.

 

Now, on this Saturday morning in late October with his fingers threaded through his blond locks, Dean sighs. His blue eyes focus on the nicks in the wooden floor that lies cold beneath his bare feet, searching for something to pull him out of his head.

 

It’s almost as if the universe decides to cut him a break when he hears the faint sound of the phone ringing on the other side of his closed door. He drags his hands down from his hair and down his face, tired eyes drooping as he stands from his bed, joints in his arms and knees popping when he stretches them. He shuffles to the door, swinging it open with a shrill screech from the hinges and makes his way to where the phone sits on the dock.

 

“Hello?” Dean asks, voice deep and gruff from sleep. He plops down on the itchy surface of the lumpy couch in the center of the room, elbow resting on the armrest closest to the landline.

 

“ _Hey man, it’s Roman. How’s it going?_ ” Roman’s voice carries through the speaker and Dean feels relieved that it isn’t his mom’s current boyfriend. “ _You sound a little tired._ ”

 

“It’s, uh, going. Y’know. I kind of just woke up, so sorry if I sound like I just smoked six packs in a row,” Dean apologizes with a small laugh, earning a similar, buttery sounding laugh from Roman.

 

“ _Nah, man. Don’t worry about it, I got up not too long ago too,_ ” Roman says and goes silent for a moment before continuing. “ _You busy later today?_ ”

 

“Hm, let me think about it,” Dean pauses for half a second, “Nope. Why? You coming to pay little ol’ me a visit?”

 

“ _Was plannin’ on it, yeah. Seth and I were talking about coming out there to have a little get together for Halloween and because we haven’t seen you in forever,_ ” Roman says and Dean feels his shoulders tense at the mention of Seth. Roman must’ve felt it in his silence because he asks, “ _Is that okay?_ ”

 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Dean reassures, brows creasing and shaking his head even though Roman can’t see it.

 

“ _I know you guys still aren’t okay, but maybe this’ll help? I dunno, he wants to hang out with you and he’s been meaning to talk to you about what happened between you guys,_ ” Roman claims, voice slightly gentler than before.

 

“Roman, I just don’t know if I’m ready—“

 

“ _I know, but just try. For me?_ ” Roman asks and he knows Dean can’t say no. “ _It’ll be like old times._ ”

 

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs in defeat, “Like old times.”

 

“ _Great!_ ” Roman seems to immediately perk up. “ _So we’ll meet up with you…where? Your house?_ ”

 

“Yeah,” He agrees, then suddenly backpedals at the thought of being trapped in his house in case things go south with Seth there. “Actually, no. I mean, we can meet at my house, but there’s somewhere else we can go where we won’t get bothered. Not that my mom would care, but y’know.”

 

“ _My oh my, have you already sniffed out the good party spots in that hick-town of yours? Not that I would expect anything else from the great Dean Ambrose,_ ” The Samoan sounds impressed and it makes Dean crack a smile.

 

“You know better than anyone. It’s not really anywhere crazy, just a good, quiet place to hang out where we won’t get caught boozin’,” Dean informs. “You’re bringing drinks, right?”

 

“ _Who do you think I am, Ambrose?_ ” Roman scoffs in mock-offense. “ _I’ll bring Smirnoff if you bring Jack._ ”

 

“Looking to get hammered, are we?” Dean’s eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline. Must’ve been a tough week at school if Roman wants to get drunk that badly.

 

“ _Just lookin’ for some fun. So, is it just gonna be me, you and Seth, or do you have any friends you wanna invite along?_ ”

 

Dean’s mind immediately goes to AJ, though he doesn’t think it would be the best idea. He also realizes that his conversation with Roman finally tore his thoughts from soft brunet hair and breath-taking blue eyes. Yet, here he is, back at square one again.

 

“ _Dean? You still there?_ ”

 

“Uh, yeah, sorry. I do have someone, I’ll ask him if he wants to come,”

 

“ _Perfect! Seth and I are gonna head down there around five, so we should get there around five-fourty-ish. See you then, bud!_ ”

 

“Yeah, see you then,”

 

            The line goes dead and Dean sits there with it against his ear for a few moments before placing it on the dock once again. He sinks into the couch, head lolling on the back it as he stares at the ceiling, the back of his neck burning from the material scratching at it.

 

            With a sudden, small burst of energy and sudden boost of confidence, Dean springs up from the couch and treks over to his room, wooden floorboards creaking underneath his weight. He kneels in front of his schoolbag, pilfering through the mess of papers and books before he finds the small scrap of paper he’d been looking for. With it in hand, he strolls back into the living room and perches himself on the couch once more with the phone in hand. Before he loses the nerve, he dials the number on the paper and waits for someone to pick up, bouncing his leg up and down.

 

            “ _Hello?_ ” A deep voice that definitely doesn’t belong to AJ asks. His dad, Dean thinks.

 

            “Uh, hi. This is Dean, a friend of AJ’s. Would he happen to be there?” Dean questions, his residual nervousness heightening as well as some contempt towards the man on the other end of the line.

 

            “ _Yeah, one second,_ ” The man says before hollering for AJ, thankfully muffling it with presumably his hand so that Dean doesn’t go deaf. Dean gnaws on his bottom lip as he waits in anticipation for the other to come to the phone.

 

            “ _This is AJ,_ ” Dean didn’t know it was possible for something, more specifically _someone_ , could make him feel relaxed and high-strung at the same time.

 

            “Hey, it’s Dean,” Dean responds. “That your old man?”

 

            “ _Yeah. Sorry, he can be a little intimidating on the phone,_ ” AJ says it like a joke, but it comes out flatter than he probably meant it to and it worries Dean somewhat.

 

            “I can imagine,” Dean says, “Anyways, I was calling to see if you wanted to hang out tonight. Some of my buddies from the city are coming to town to visit and we’re having a little get together, probably at the park. There’s gonna be booze there though, so I understand if you don’t want to go.” Dean finishes in a bit of a rush, glad he got the invitation out there and AJ can do with it what he wishes. After a beat of silence, he hears AJ sigh over the other side of the line.

 

            “ _That’s fine, I don’t care. What time?_ ”

 

            “Around six o’clock, I don’t know how long we’re gonna be there, but you’re welcome to come and go as you please,”

 

            “ _I might have stuff to do before then, but I’ll see if I can get out of it. I’ll meet you guys there?_ ” AJ inquires and a small smile finds its way onto Dean’s lips.

 

            “Yep. Hope to see you then,” Dean says.

 

            “ _We’ll see, Ambrose. Talk to you later,_ ” AJ responds, a bit of a smile in his voice. Seconds later the line goes dead and Dean places the handset on the dock once more, smile still on his lips and the nervousness he’d been feeling before and during the call completely gone. The feeling is replaced with the same fluttering feeling he’s had for weeks.

 

            God, it’s worse than he thought if one phone call will do that to him.

 

-

 

            Dean makes a resolution to himself as he sees Seth’s beat-up Honda Civic flying down the road towards his house that he won’t get sloshed tonight. For a multitude of reasons. One, AJ’s going to probably be there and he doesn’t want to puke his guts out in front of the guy, verbally and physically. Having something about what he’s been feeling for the past month slip out of his unfiltered, drunken mouth is not a risk he is willing to take. Two, Seth will be there and he’d rather not get into a drunken screaming match with him, especially if he actually is trying to fix things between them.

 

            He hears the slamming of car doors outside and he springs up from his spot on the couch, sneakers clunking on the floor on his way to the door. He pats all his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs before remembering the bottle of Jack Daniels sitting amongst the clutter of the kitchen table. He quickly jogs through the threshold of the room and swipes the bottle from the table and makes his way back to the door when there comes incessant knocking. Once he reaches the door, he swings it open to find Roman and Seth standing on his porch, Roman with his fist in the air where he’d been knocking on the door and Seth standing behind him with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

 

            “There’s my boy!” Roman exclaims, glowing with happiness as he swoops in for a crushing hug.

 

            “Ro— You’re hurting my ribs,” Dean squirms, nonetheless wraps his arms around the larger teen. He catches a glimpse of Seth smiling behind him, both happy and a little sad.

 

            “Don’t be soft, Ambrose,” Roman frees him with a pat on the shoulder.

 

            “Hey,” Seth greets him, voice softer than Roman’s like he’s afraid if he speaks too loudly, Dean will shy away from him even more.

 

            “Hey, man,” Dean returns a bit gruffly, giving him a quick and awkward fist bump. “So, are we ready to head out?”

 

            “Depends. You got my Jack?” Roman crosses his arms over his chest skeptically.

 

            “Your Jack? Did you pay for it?” Dean steps out onto the porch, raising his hand holding the bottle by its neck for Roman to see, closing and locking the door behind him. With a smooth laugh, Roman ruffles Dean’s hair. The three of them step down from the porch and walk side-by-side down the dirt road towards the park.

 

            During their commute, Roman fills Dean in on all the drama happening at school, Seth occasionally interjecting to either confirm or deny the truth of Roman’s stories. As they scuff their feet against the earth, kicking up a few odd pebbles on the ground, Dean finds himself more at ease than he expected to. Despite what things happened between he and Seth in the past, the atmosphere doesn’t feel as tense as it once had. He missed having this, being able to just hang out with friends and escape the world around him. He sort of has that with AJ, but it isn’t yet at the same level of friendship as he has with Roman.

 

            It isn’t the same with Seth, however. He knows from experience that if Roman weren’t here to fill in the awkward silences and crack jokes, he would be ten times more stressed out just from being near Seth. There had been multiple instances in the past where Dean had endured hanging out with Seth because he was hanging out with Roman. He wasn’t going to make him choose between two friends, he isn’t selfish like that. The knowledge that Seth wants to talk out their qualms makes Dean’s skin itch. He wants to be able to patch things up for the sake of Roman, his own sake, and maybe even Seth’s sake, though he still can’t be sure.

 

            Soon, they happen upon the expanse of dull green, brown leaves and the lone bench that sits rotting away in the middle of it all. Dean takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the chilled October air and trying to shake the nerves that snuck up on him at the prospect of having “a talk” with Seth.

 

            “Here we are,” Dean announces, twisting the cap off the bottle in his hand and taking a small gulp, cherishing the way it burns on the way down. With a grin, Roman snatches the bottle from him and takes a large swig.

 

            “Jesus, Roman, ease up a little,” Seth warns, arms crossed over his chest to combat the cold.

 

            “It’s been a long week Seth, you knew I was gonna drink,” Roman says, tone casual as he takes another swig. “Relax, I know my limits.”

 

            “You’re a little better than me, but that doesn’t mean you’re a responsible drinker,” Dean huffs a laugh when Roman shoots him a glare, Seth nodding by his side.

 

            “Whatever. You two are lightweights,” Roman grumbles, going to take another swig when Dean yanks the bottle out of his hand and twisting the cap on it. “Gimme that, you little shit!”

 

            “You’ll have to catch me first!” Dean hollers, backing away as Roman makes to grab at the bottle and beginning to run into the field, the other hot on his heels. The two run around for a little while and by the time the bigger of the two manages to catch him and tackle him to the ground, Dean is wild-eyed and breathless. The two teens burst into breathless laughter, chests burning from the alcohol and the exercise.

 

            Roman plucks the glass bottle from his cold hands and sits up, taking a smaller swig than the last two. Dean pushes himself into a sitting position as well, leaning back with his hands behind him, jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Seth walking towards them with another figure, who he assumes is AJ. He turns to look at the two, finding his suspicion to be correct and he brings up a hand to wave at him.

 

            “Hey man, how’s it going?” He shouts as the two get closer, AJ with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

 

            “Fine, was watching someone run around like a maniac until he got tackled, which was pretty entertaining,” He says.

 

            “You hurt me,” Dean says, pouting and feigning despair. He knocks the act quickly, though, in favor of beginning introductions. “Guys, this is AJ. AJ, this is Roman and that’s Seth, but it seems like you guys have already met.”

 

            “Hey, nice to meet you,” Roman smiles up at him from the ground, bottle of Jack more than halfway empty in his hand, which Seth balks at.

 

            “Jesus, Roman! What did I tell you about slowing down?!” Seth scolds, moving from AJ’s side to stand over Roman’s legs, then bends down and takes the bottle from him. Roman just waves him off and rolls his eyes.

 

            “It’ll take more than Jack Daniels to get me super drunk, Seth,” Roman reassures, though his words sound as though they’re starting to blur together a little bit. “That’s why I brought Smirnoff— wait, where’s the Smirnoff?”

 

            As the two of them start yelling back and forth about the whereabouts of Roman’s vodka, Dean stands up and brushes the dry grass from the seat of his jeans and sidles up beside AJ.

 

            “Sorry, they’re a little eccentric,” Dean says, absently watching his best friend and sort-of-ex-friend bickering back and forth next to AJ, who snorts.

 

            “I wouldn’t expect anything less from friends of yours,” He admits and Dean snickers softly.

 

            “So, did you get all those errands done?” He asks after a brief period of silence as they watch the two others continue to bicker.

 

            “Most of them. I was somehow able to convince the old man to let me finish the others later,” AJ answers, bringing his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms over his chest. The action makes the brunet look cold and small and Dean has to fight the urge to wrap his arms around him, shielding him from the chilly breeze.

 

            “You didn’t have to go through the trouble, it would’ve been fine if you came later,” Dean says apologetically.

 

            “No, no, it’s fine. He isn’t mad about it, I just have to get them done before the end of the weekend,” AJ assures him with a small smile, which Dean ends up mirroring.

 

            “Dean!” They both turn their heads toward Roman and Seth, both a bit red in the face from their argument. Roman continues, “Can you go with Seth back to your house to get the Smirnoff? I’d send him alone, but he doesn’t remember the way back. Wouldn’t want him to get lost, you know.”

 

            “That’s fine,” Dean responds, tone clipped because he knows what Roman is doing. Tension mounts itself on his shoulders as he considers the discussion he’s about to be having, knowing that it won’t end well (though in the back of his mind, he hopes it does).

 

            Dean and Seth start walking across the field towards the tree line that they’d cut through on their way to the park. They walk in a tense silence, away from the two figures standing in the field that shrink with the growing distance between them. Dean crosses his arms to block out the cold gust of wind that had just blown through the both of them, as well as to shield himself from the impending conversation. In his peripherals, he can see Seth opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the right words to start with. As much as he doesn’t want to talk about this, Dean would rather bite the bullet and get this over with.

 

            “Spit it out already,” He grumbles, aching for a cigarette with his gaze trained in front of him. He hears Seth sigh at his side, barely loud enough to be heard above the crunch of gravel under their feet.

 

            “I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry,” Seth starts and Dean huffs a mirthless laugh. Ignoring him, he continues. “I’m sorry for what I did and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I want to try to fix what happened between us.”

 

            “You’re right that ‘sorry’ isn’t enough,” Dean says, struggling to keep his tone even, “and that I don’t want to talk about it. So how about we leave it at that?”

 

            Seth places a hand on Dean’s chest to stop him from walking and though he swats it away with a scowl on his face, he plants his feet and faces Seth dead on.

 

            “Why won’t you let me fix this Dean?” Seth asks, voice raising slightly in frustration and Dean barks out another laugh.

 

            “Because you’re the one who broke what we had in the first place!” Dean answers, voice raising to match Seth’s volume.

 

            “I didn’t want to keep leading you on, it would’ve hurt you even more if I did,” Seth says and Dean scoffs.

 

            “You could’ve just rejected me in the first place,” Dean retorts maliciously. “But no, you decided to indulge me and then tear it away from me.”

 

            “I know, and I’m sorry for it,” Seth repeats quietly, eyes downcast and Dean’s heart clenches in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t feel bad for laying into Seth like this, but that look is enough for him to make an effort to calm himself. He looks away from the other, taking a few breaths and dropping his hands from his chest, bringing one to his face to rub at his eyes.

 

            “If you knew that you didn’t feel the same way, why did you say yes?” He eventually says, quiet this time and a bit defeated, to his own embarrassment.

 

            “I don’t know,” Seth answers after a moment, “I thought that maybe if we went on a few dates, maybe I’d feel the same and I—“

 

            “You just didn’t,” Dean finishes for him and Seth nods. They stand there facing each other for a while in silence, looking into each other’s eyes. Roman’s mother would always say that the eyes were the windows into the soul. What he finds in Seth’s eyes seems to be genuine guilt and nearly makes him melt on the spot.

 

With a long sigh through his nose, Dean looks away from Seth and starts walking again. He hears shuffling behind him as Seth tries to catch up with him, a few pebbles knocking against his worn-out sneakers that the other inadvertently kicked up. He looks down at his feet as they walk in silence once more, though this time it feels a little lighter. Perhaps it’s because he was never able to get answers out of Seth without it filling him with hurt and animosity towards the other. Though he hates to admit it, their falling out was both their faults, not just Seth’s.

 

Once they reach the house, Dean leans against Seth’s Honda as the other rifles through the mess in the backseat where Roman must’ve tossed the liquor. He looks up at the sky that is slowly transitioning into a steely blue, waiting for Seth to find the damn bottle so they can get back to their party. Once he does, he slams the door closed and presses the lock button on his key until the car gives a small _beep!_

 

“Do you think that we could ever mend things between us?” Seth eventually asks as they’re halfway back to the park.

 

“I don’t know,” Dean answers honestly. “Do you mean like how things used to be?”

 

“Yeah,”

 

“Do you want my honest answer?”

 

“Yes,”

 

“Probably not,” Dean responds. “What you did really hurt me Seth, it made my trust issues worse than they already were.”

 

“Oh,” Seth says, looking down at his feet as they walk and Dean knows the look on his face would break him if he were to look up. He takes a deep breath and hopes he isn’t going to regret what he says next

 

“Things probably won’t be how they used to be, I don’t know if I can open myself up like that to you again,” He says, “but I can try.”

 

It takes a moment for Seth to fully register what he said, as he brings his gaze up from the ground and stops walking, eyes hopeful and a small smile finding its way onto his tan features. “Really?” He asks and Dean huffs a short laugh.

 

“I guess,” He says. “It’ll take a while, so don’t push. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Seth responds immediately and enthusiastically, the smile on his face growing wider.

 

They start walking again, the silence between them without any weight and Dean finds that it’s a little easier to breath. The knot in his chest where his heart is feels as though it has finally been untied after months of it being there and Dean decides that it feels good to let go a little.

 

“So,” Seth’s voice cuts through the silence, “You and AJ. Are you two…?”

 

“What? Are we what?” Dean asks, even though he knows what Seth is going to ask.

 

“Are you guys a thing?” He asks, a sly grin forming on his face when Dean’s face heats up slightly.

 

“No,” Dean answers immediately, embarrassed.

 

“You’re blushing,” Seth points out with a small laugh.

 

“You’re pushing it, Rollins,” Dean warns, though there isn’t any malice behind his words.

 

-

 

            After Dean and Seth reunite with Roman and AJ, who had been chatting idly, things feel much lighter than they had before. There’s no longer a tension between Seth and Dean that could be cut with a butter-knife, though there’s still some residual awkwardness there. The only thing that prevents their little party from being completely carefree, at least for Dean, is AJ’s presence, though it isn’t his fault. Dean does his best to maneuver around the feelings that threaten to make him on edge around the brunet and luckily, they don’t get in the way of them having a good time.

 

            He’s very pleased with how well AJ seems to be getting along with Roman and Seth, all of them falling into light banter that makes him feel like AJ had been a part of their group for years. The four of them sit in the grass, the bottle of Jack long emptied (by Roman before Seth and Dean even got back to the park), the bottle of Smirnoff being passed between Dean, who takes tentative sips, and Roman, who’s drinking too much too fast. They talk about school and things going on in their lives and Dean nearly spills the beans on where he works. His drink-hazed brain knows well enough that all of them would be concerned if he were to share that little secret. Especially Roman, who, even in his drunken stupor, would immediately turn into a mother hen.

 

            Seth eventually manages to wrench the vodka from the Samoan’s hands, thankfully before he could drain half the bottle. At that point, Seth announces that they should get going back home since Roman looks like he’s on the cusp of a blackout and the sky was now fully dark.

 

            “Do you need me to walk you guys back?” Dean asks, standing up to receive hugs from both of his friends.

 

            “Nah, I’m pretty sure I remember the way back,” Seth says, giving Dean a quick hug and waving goodbye to AJ before shooting Dean a wink.

 

            “Bye Dean!” Roman shouts right into his ear, causing Dean to wince at the loud noise and the bone crushing hug he gives.

 

            “Bye buddy,” Dean wheezes, patting his drunk friend on the back before leading him to Seth.

 

As they start their journey back, Dean plops back down in the grass, laying back with his hands behind his head, staring straight up at the cloud and star-speckled sky. In his peripherals, he can see AJ looking at him as he lays back to do the same, except his eyes stay trained on his face. After a few moments of him staring, Dean tears his eyes away from the sky and over to look at AJ’s face. His heart thumps in his chest at the proximity of the other, only a few inches separating the two of them.

 

“Your friends were pretty cool,” AJ says softly, eyes fixed on Dean’s.

 

“You think so?” Dean asks, eyes flicking down to AJ’s lips for a half a second as he considers what they would feel like against his own, then back up to meet his eyes again.

 

“Yeah,” AJ responds, expression calm and blank. Then he turns his head to look up at the sky like Dean had moments ago, leaving him to study the brunet’s profile, which he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from.

 

Eventually, he does tear his eyes away from the other and looks up at the sky as well. The two sit in the stillness, shivering with the occasional cold gust of wind that brushes over them, listening to the dry scraping of fallen leaves against each other. They exchange idle chit chat that leaves Dean feeling light as a feather and he wishes this moment never had to end.

 

            Ultimately, the moment does end when the two part ways for the night with promises to see each other on Monday on their lips. Dean makes his way down the dirt road to his house for the second time today and god, it feels a million times better than the first time. Dean feels as though he’s on cloud nine and he doesn’t know if it’s his reconciliation with Seth, seeing Roman again, or the memory of being closer to AJ than he’s ever been that makes him feel this way.

 

            He continues down the dark, dirt road with a smile on his face and feeling happier than he had in months. He sees his house come into view and it takes a moment before he sees something that makes his heart drop into his stomach and all happiness he’d been feeling drain out of him faster than it had come.

 

            He sees an old, beat-up, black Chevy pickup truck parked in his driveway and what that means makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

 

            Dad.

 

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always help me stay motivated to write, so please leave some if you can! Kudos are also very much appreciated, but I love hearing your guys' thoughts on my work. Thanks!


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